


The Book of the Dead

by rudennotgingr



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-01-18 05:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1417138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rudennotgingr/pseuds/rudennotgingr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Tyler finds herself guiding and assisting an unlikely pair into the cursed ruins of Trenzalore. Mickey Smith is looking for wealth and treasure while his brother John is looking for the archaeological find of the century. The journey quickly turns dangerous as they realize they may be in for more than they bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Don't You Close That Door

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU of the movie The Mummy. I do not own that, or DW. I also took the liberty of merging Time Lord/Egyptian culture, because reasons. Huge thank you to jabber-who-key11 for the beta. There is some swearing and violence (but nothing explicit). Enjoy!

**Arcadia - 2134 BC**

Arcadia. City of the Living. Crown jewel of Pharaoh Romana the First.

Home of Rassilon, Pharaoh’s High Priest, Keeper of the Dead. Birthplace of the Master, the Pharaoh’s youngest son. Last in line to the throne. For absolute power, they were willing to risk life itself.

Rassilon tempted the Master with promises of eternal glory and everlasting life, in exchange for his own taste of power, ruling side by side. The lure of power called to the Master, a never ending drum beat that throbbed in his heart. He gave in, carrying out his part of the plan and slaying his mother in her sleep. Her cry of betrayal before the last breath left her body was the signal of his undoing. He cackled madly as the guards pried the sword from his hand, a dark stain of blood forming in his abdomen and Rassilon watching from the shadows

The Master was still needed to help rid the throne of the eldest brother, who was set to replace Pharaoh. To resurrect the Master, Rassilon and his priests broke into his crypt and stole his body. They raced deep into the desert taking the Master's corpse to Trenzalore, City of the Dead, ancient burial site for the sons of Pharaohs and resting place for the wealth of Gallifrey.

For his lust for power, Rassilon dared the gods' anger by going deep into the city, where he took the black Book of the Dead from its holy resting place. The Master's soul had been sent to the dark underworld, his vital organs removed and placed in five sacred canopic jars.

Using the black book, the Master’s soul had come back from the dead. But Pharaoh's body guards had followed Rassilon and stopped him before the ritual could be completed. The Master's soul slunk back to the Underworld, having not been able to occupy a body.

Rassilon’s priests were condemned to be mummified alive. As for Rassilon, he was condemned to endure the Hom-Dai. The worst of all ancient curses. One so horrible, it had never before been bestowed.

Rassilon's tongue was cut out and he was wrapped alive, long strips of white cloth snaking around his body. Boiling black pitch was applied to his wrappings before his body, squirming and writhing, was lowered into stone sarcophagus. Dozens of scarabs were then poured on his still breathing body, scuttling over him and digging at his wrappings, seeking out the flesh below.

Rassilon was to remain sealed inside his sarcophagus, buried at the base of Anubis, the undead for all of eternity. Torchwood would never allow him to be released. For he would arise a walking disease, a plague upon mankind, an unholy flesh-eater, with the strength of ages, power over the sands, and the glory of invincibility.

And if he could raise the Master from his place in hell, together, they would be an unstoppable infection upon the world.

For 3,000 years, men and armies fought over this land. Never knowing what evil lay beneath it. And for 3,000 years, we, Torchwood, the descendants of Pharaoh's sacred body guards, kept watch.

**The Sahara - 1925**

A stray lock of blonde hair, dry and itchy from too much heat and not enough water, whipped across Rose Tyler’s face as she stared out across the endless sand dunes. Her white cotton blouse was beginning to stick to her skin, just between her shoulder blades where beads of sweat squeezed out of her pores. The rest of her clothing was various shades of brown, helpful for blending in to her current surroundings, when brown was the only color for miles and miles. A tan coat that she usually kept unbuttoned, allowing whatever rare breeze happened her way to sneak more fully around her torso and alleviate the scorching heat. Her breeches were cream and fitted, perhaps a little too well if wandering eyes were any indication. A dark pair of brown leather boots came to just below her knee, helping to keep the sand from sneaking inside and grinding at her feet. She hurriedly tucked the strand behind her ear, cursing her messy bun at the nape of her neck for not doing its job properly. A swarm of angry nomads were galloping across the sand, closing in quickly, their shouts and whooping battle cries already reaching her ears. She would need a clear line of sight to take out as many as possible.

She stood just behind a low set wall on the outskirts of the abandoned ruins, her French Lebel M 1886 rifle at the ready, along with the other two hundred Torchwood Archive members. The name was deceiving, making them seem like some sort of archaeological dig initiative. Oh, those sorts were part of Torchwood as well. But here and now, they were nothing more than soldiers tensely awaiting the first blood of battle.

The sound of metal slapping against flesh followed by hooves floundering in the sand before retreating gave her pause to look behind her. Adam Mitchell, one of her few good mates, turned around as well. Their commander was galloping away, saving his own neck and leaving the rest of them hanging in the wind. Apparently he didn’t believe in their cause as much as he had lead on. She locked gazes with Adam, his dark hair barely visible beneath his white kepi.

“You just got promoted,” he said with a wry smile. Rose took a deep breath then turned back to face the oncoming horde, anticipation and adrenaline buzzing her veins, drowning out the small voice of doubt that was always present when fighting for your life. Unlike her commander, or rather ex-commander, she was no coward.

“Hold your positions!” she shouted. She lifted her gun back to her shoulder and braced an arm against the wall, her hazel eyes narrowing in on her first target as the mass of sand and death gave way to individual warriors. Individual targets for her to pick off, one shot at a time. “Steady!” she called out, attempting to keep some semblance of order before all hell broke loose. In a much harsher tone, but muttered under her breath, she directed a question at Adam, “You’re with me on this one, yeah?”

“Oh, your strength gives me strength,” he sing-songed back to her. The tell tale signs of his shaking voice alerted Rose that he was beginning to think of his own backside, no matter what he said. It wouldn't be the first time he put his own well being before the orders Torchwood had given them. Not too reassuring then. Great. She would just have to trust him, ignore his cowardly streak, and hope he held out.

“Steady!” she shouted again, feeling the nerves of her troops jitter through the line. If they were going to survive, they needed to stick together. The nomad warriors galloped closer, their high pitched cries of excitement contrasting with the low thundering of hooves. Closer, closer, closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Adam’s head shake before he moved out of her field of vision. She jerked her head to the side, catching him toss his rifle to the sand, running off in the direction of their commander.

“Wait! Wait for me!” he shrieked, flailing his arms and stumbling on the uneven terrain. The blue sash around his waist flapped with his movements, a pathetic goodbye he was too chicken to give himself. She huffed and brought her attention back to the matter at hand. She could worry about him later. If he survived.

“Steady!” she barked once more, needing to prevent any more from following suit and leaving the line. Their enemies were almost with in range...just a little bit…”Fire!”

A volley of shots skittered through the line, syncopated pops filling the air as the command trickled down. A handful of warriors toppled off their mounts, some tripping up their comrades as they crashed into the ground, lifeless. Rose and her troops fired quickly, reloading and taking new aim as the nomads bore down upon them. With a steady arm, she hit every single mark, making every bullet count. Sand and smoke billowed around them as the battle broke out full force.

The opposing force fired back, sending soldiers from the high wall behind her tumbling to the ground, screaming until the soft thud of sand silenced them forever. Another wave of horseback riders crested over the hill to her right. Shit. Her troops were outnumbered and outgunned. Still, she held her ground. Standing up, she reloaded as she backed away from the onslaught, riders and horses foaming at the mouth, ready for blood.

The first wave of riders leapt over the wall. Her troops scattered, fleeing for their lives. Most were hacked down as the sound of metal slicing fabric and flesh replaced the sound of gunfire. Rose placed a round in her mouth, gripping it tightly between her teeth, lifted her rifle and fired, taking out a rider who had just butchered a soldier she had played cards with the night before. Propping the butt of her Lebel on her thigh, she reloaded, aimed at the nearest target and pulled the trigger. Another one down, slipping from his saddle as the horse continued to run.

Another horse shot towards her, it’s robed rider holding his sword high, ready to strike her down. Rose gripped her empty gun tightly in both hands, spacing them out along the barrel, and swung up with all her might. She grunted as the butt of the rifle connected with the rider’s arm, knocking him off balance and sending him to the ground. She tried to reload, but the man was too quick. He pushed up off the sand, running at her full tilt, his blade glinting in the sunlight. Adjusting her grip she swung the rifle, this time making sure to aim for the man’s face. Bone crunched as the force shattered his nose. He hit the sand and didn’t move. She grinned wickedly triumphant, her heart thundering in her chest.

Two riders galloped towards her, wiping the smile from her face. She tossed the useless French rifle to the ground and whipped out two pistols from the holsters hanging at her front. Firing each gun in unison she sent both riders tumbling from their mounts.

She lost count of bodies and bullets as she was forced to back up, round after round hitting its mark. The pistols were soon discarded in the same fashion as the rifle, skidding through the sand, and quickly replaced by two more pistols shoved into the belt behind her. She shouted and fired, her brain running only on the need to survive. Bodies and screams from both sides littered the area as she was forced further into the ruins.

Running low on ammo, and faced with little other option if she wanted to live, she turned tail and ran. Leaping over a fallen column, she caught sight of a familiar face a short distance away.

“Run, Adam! Run!” she shouted, waving her guns wildly in the air. Adam jumped at the sound of her voice but quickly obeyed. He turned and headed towards a dark doorway, one of the intact entrances to whatever lay below ground. “Get inside! Get inside!”

Adam reached safety, skidding to a stop just inside the stone archway. He grabbed something she couldn’t see and his face became strained. The door. The bloody git was trying to shut her out.

“Hey! Don’t you close that door!” Rose yelled in frustration, jumping over a body and hurtling towards the hope of safety as fast as her legs would carry her. “Don’t you close that door!” Her shoulder connected roughly with dark stone as Adam pushed it shut. There were no handles on the outside, just worn down carvings of an ancient language, swirls and circles that seemed random and jumbled together. She slouched against the surface, sucking hot air into her burning lungs.

Rock and dust fell from over head. She jumped, snapping back to the present as bullets hit the arch just above her. Three horsemen lept over the column she had cleared just moments before. Her eyes widened and she broke into a sprint. Her feet carried her through the ruins, across a flat stone base as she ducked around still erect columns, dodging bullets as they ricocheted around her.

The platform was coming to an end, the top of a leaning pillar from the drop below obstructed her path, preventing her from determining just how far down the ground would be. A bullet whizzed past her face, stirring the air just in front of her nose. Gritting her teeth, she stormed across the remaining distance then jumped up, blindly tossing her guns and using her hands to propel herself over the pillar. The world spun as she toppled head over feet, browns and shadows and sunlight swirling together before coming to a jarring stop. Sand flew in the air and got in her mouth as the impact caused her to inhale sharply.

She rolled twice, coughing as she scrambled to her hands and knees. A pistol, she wasn’t even sure if it was hers, lay inches before her. She reached out her fingers, jerking them back as bullet spray pelted the sand around the discarded weapon. She clamored to her feet, slipping in the ever present sand then hauled arse away from the horsemen still chasing her. Dirt flew off her like a wispy cape as she tore through the ruins, her mind desperately searching for a way out. If she could just get the element of surprise then…

Shit. She skidded to a stop as three more nomads came around a corner, headed straight for her. She tore off down a different path, heels digging into the sand. It was looking like there would be no way out this time. Her muscles were burning and her mind was racing faster than her feet, still coming up short. She came to a stop in front of a large worn down statue, two times her size and as big around as an oak tree. The statue itself wasn’t the problem. The sudden rock face that towered behind it was. There was no way she would make it up and over in time. She had come to a dead end.

Panting and drained, she turned around in defeat. The six riders jerked their mounts to a halt in a flurry of sand and muted whinnies. Rose squeezed her eyes shut, her body tense and awaiting the gunfire that would end her life. People said their life flashed before their eyes in these situations. She was getting nothing. All she could think about was whether she would hear the shots before feeling them pierce her body. Maybe she wouldn’t get her flash until she was drawing her last breath. Maybe her life hadn’t been worth flashing on.

Guns cocked and Rose held her breath, any second now. Loud braying and curt commands filled her ears. Some sort of scramble was happening yet she didn’t dare open her eyes. No use getting her hopes up when there was no hope to be had. The noises seemed to be retreating, heading away from her. She popped open one eye, the only trace of another person being the cloud of dust slowly settling back to earth. Her body relaxed and she let out a sigh of relief. She wasn’t sure what had happened to the nomads, and she didn’t bloody care.

Hushed whispers drifted through the still air, sending chills down her spine. She twisted every which way, finding no one. Dread curled and coiled in her stomach as she fully took in the statue for the first time. Half of the human figure was buried beneath the sand, the other half beaten and decrepit from exposure to the harsh punisher known as time. But there was no mistaking the worn jackal face. Anubis.

Rose swallowed hard, taking several uncertain steps away from the looming figure, something dark and powerful radiating from it. The air was thick and oppressive, full of foreboding and a creeping unease she could only label as evil. She shouldn’t be here. She wasn’t one to believe in superstitions and nonsense, but something about this location, not just where she was standing but the entirety of the ruins, set humans and animals alike on edge. The whispers were joined by what sounded like a crazed animal’s laughter. The sounds grew louder, the sand beneath her feet shifting unexpectedly. She whirled around, yelping as a tidal wave of dirt crashed over her. Instinctively turning away, another burst of coarse debris rained over her. Twisting and turning, sputtering in a fruitless attempt to keep the grains from worming into her mouth, Rose tripped over her own feet as wave after wave of sand battered against her.

Grunting as she hit the ground, she rolled, then scrambled to her feet. Her skin was prickling from something other than the heat and her heart raced in her chest. A deep primal fear clawing and scratching at her insides, urging her to run, as far away as possible and never return. And run she did, hard and fast, never looking over her shoulder.

She never saw the final slide of the sand, the soft settling of the soil into a vague face, eyes sunk in and mouth opened in a silent scream.

When Rose finally did glance back, she was out of the ruins and stumbling through the desert. Alone. The rest of Torchwood had either scattered or been slaughtered, it was every man for himself. Crossing from dunes of loose sand to flat and cracked soil, she felt eyes on her back, heavy and never wavering. Looking over her shoulder, eyes squinting in the blinding light, she barely made out a line of riders cloaked in black atop a ridge.

There was no doubt in her mind that they were watching her, there wasn’t another living soul in sight. They made no move to follow her, no shrieks alerting her to a chase. The heat pressed in around her. Her muscles tightened from exhaustion and her chest heaved as she tried to get enough air. She knew why they weren’t going to bother with her. They would let the desert do what it did best, claim hopeless wandering souls. Swallowing them whole, digesting every last bit until they became part of the endless sand.

Wiping sweat from her brow she trudged forward, pushing the mysterious riders from her mind. Surviving the blistering heat and the dehydration that was sure to come, her lips already chapped and dry, was the only thing that mattered. They were making a mistake by letting her go. They assumed that crossing the desert unprepared was impossible for an outsider. And that’s where she would prove them wrong.

Rose Tyler thrived on the impossible.


	2. Have You No Respect For the Dead

**Panopticon - 1928**

John Smith was reshelving books on the very top shelf of one of the many dark oak bookcases ringing the outer walls of the library. His smooth voice echoed throughout the vast room as he read off each book title stacked in his arms, punctuating each declaration with a soft thud as he slid the book to it’s rightful place on the shelf. “Sacred Stones. Sculpture and Aesthetics. Scrates. Seth, volume one, volume two...and volume three. And T--Tuthmosis? What are you doing here?”

John paused, tongue touching his upper lip, as he looked around from his precarious position on the ladder. He tilted his head down, peering over the top of his glasses to the bookcase opposite the one he was currently leaning on. Ah, well, the book would go _just_ there. He eyeballed the distance between the two bookcases, mentally calculating if his limbs were long enough to reach. He really didn’t want to climb down and move the ladder for one ruddy book. If he stretched, he could make it.

Setting the two remaining books on the very top of the bookcase, he gripped _Tuthmosis_ in his hand and leaned across the aisle. His feet were planted on two different rungs, curling awkwardly in his shoes to grip the bars, and the hand not holding the book clung tightly to the topmost rung. His muscles strained as his arm reached across the void. He tried to slip the book onto the shelf once, twice...three times, no luck. His arm flopped to his side, the heavy leather bound tome whacking against his thigh, and he shook it out before trying one last time. He took a deep breath then stretched as far as he could, his arm beginning to shake as the book bumped the edge of the shelf. Gritting his teeth, he pushed forward.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, sliding the book into place. His center of gravity shifted as the ladder began to pull away from its resting position. His moment of triumph turned into a flurry of panic as he windmilled his arm, trying to push his weight back and keep the ladder from falling. He lost his footing as the ladder bumped back against the bookcase. His hand locked around the rung and his free arm swung outward, slicing through the air as his body pivoted on the tedious purchase he still had with one foot. He arced over emptiness until his back collided with the solid bookcase, the thud ringing loudly in the otherwise silent library. His head smacked against one of the shelves, disorienting him, and his breath left his mouth in a strangled whoosh. He was vaguely aware of the world tipping backwards as he slid to the floor.

His arse slammed into the ground, making him grimace. He rubbed the back of his head where a small lump was forming. A resounding whack snapped him back to reality. Oh, no. No, no, no. He shot to his feet and turned to see the bookcases toppling over like dominoes, the rustling of paper and books plunging to the floor served as a constant background to the crack of wood on wood. He flinched at each collision of one bookcase to another, watching in horror as the rippling effect came full circle around the room. He gathered enough sense to scramble out of the aisle before the last few structures toppled over, crushing the ladder where he had been just moments before.

Bugger, he thought as he ran a hand through his brown hair in distress. He turned in a slow circle, now running both hands through the wild strands as he surveyed the damage.

Harriet was going to kill him. As if thinking about her had summoned her very presence, a middle aged woman with short brown hair and a no nonsense dress suit came storming into the library. She looked all around the room, taking quick stock of the disaster, and John could see the frustration boiling in her eyes.

“What is the meaning of this?” she snapped, finally focusing on him.

“I…” John trailed off, stooping to retrieve a book that had ended up near his feet and trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

“Look at this mess!” she shouted, her arms waving frantically to indicate the entire space. “I’d take frogs, flies, even locusts over this. Compared to you, the other plagues were an absolute joy!”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was an accident.” He really was genuinely sorry, and it _had_ been an accident. An accident he probably could have prevented by getting down and moving the ladder the right way, the proper way. But it was too late for that. It was best to just apologize and not make it worse by explaining the details.

“John, when Ramesses destroyed Clom, that was an accident. You...are a catastrophe!” Harriet took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Why do I put up with you?”

“Well,” he began, drawing out the word to buy time, “You put up with me because I can...I can read and write Old High Gallifreyan. And I can...I can decipher circular Gallifreyan and hieratic.” As he began to list his, quite frankly, brilliant qualifications, John began to get more and more irritated. Why was he having to defend himself like this? It was one bloody accident (this time), not like he had burned down the entire city. He drew himself up to his full height, clutching the book he was still holding tightly in his hands. “ _And_ I am the only person within a thousand miles who knows how to properly code and catalog this library. That’s why!”

“I put up with you because your father and mother were our finest patrons. That’s why.” Harriet’s tone was harsh and she had effectively brushed his points to the side, but a softness came back into her features, removing some of the bite to her words. She walked towards him, stopping just in front of him and reaching up to brush something off his shoulder. “Omega rest their souls. Now, I don’t care how you do it. I don’t care how long it takes. Straighten up this library!” She pointed a finger in his face, waiting until he nodded his agreement before marching out of the room.

John let out an exasperated sigh, scrubbing a hand down the bottom half of his face. He turned in a circle, pulling his glasses off and shoving them in his jacket pocket. It was going to take hours, days most likely, to clean up the mess.

His head snapped up at a muffled thud that came from the other side of the wall to his left. He squinted at the entrance that lead to the museum part of the building, seeing nothing, then drifted his focus to the window between the two rooms which only showed softly glowing torch light. Squaring his shoulders, he strode deliberately to the adjoining room.

“Hello?” John called to the apparently empty space, pausing underneath the large stone archway. A rustling sounded from somewhere within the vast room. He entered the chamber slowly, grabbing a torch from one of the Anubis figurines guarding the doorway. He padded between ancient statues, golden treasure and mummy displays in the dim fire light. He looked around cautiously, the hairs on his arms standing on end.

“Abdul?” he tried again, nerves making his voice tremble. “Mohammed?...Bob?” He paused by the head of a sarcophagus, swallowing hard. A scraping followed by a thud from behind made him whip around...nothing.

His eyes fell to an open sarcophagus, and after a few steadying breaths he shuffled forward apprehensively while wielding the torch high in the air. He approached the lip of the coffin, holding his breath and his heart pounding furiously in his chest.

A rotting corpse shot straight up and John yelped, jumping in the air only to be frozen to the spot as his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. Laughter bounced up from the dark bottom of the deep coffin, followed by a pair of legs sticking straight up beside the decaying remains. John growled as the legs swung down, the head of his step brother popping up to take their place. The torch light glinted off his dark skin which was a stark contrast to John’s pale and freckle dusted face. Mickey's darker complection was always a give away that they weren't related by blood. John had been adopted at a young age and they had essentially grown up together, the difference never bothering the pair.

“Have you no respect for the dead?” John snapped as he placed the torch in a holder at the end of the sarcophagus.

“Course l do!” Mickey assured him between fits of giggles, sounding slightly affronted that John would think otherwise. “But sometimes, l'd rather like to join them.” He punctuated his statement by placing his arm around the mummy’s shoulder, gripping its arm and slamming it on the edge of the coffin.

“Well,” John huffed, disentangling his brother from the rotting remains and laying the figure back in its proper position. “l wish you would do it before you ruin my career the way you've ruined yours. Now get out.” He slapped Mickey lightly on the cheek, who had been wiggling his fingers at the mummy in a goofy farewell like a bloody idiot. Knowing his brother, he was probably drunk. Again.

“My dear, worrisome brother...l'll have you kn-know…” Mickey paused, wincing as he tried to clamour out of the coffin, one leg out and one leg in causing his manhood to take a beating. “At this precise moment my career is on a high note.” He gave John a silly smile as he leaned back, using the sarcophagus as support for his wobbly legs.

''High note. Ha!” John scoffed. He exhaled roughly, all his frustrations suddenly piling back on his shoulders. His brother meant well, he always did. He just didn’t always have his methods in a proper working order. “Mickey, please, l'm really not in the mood for you. l've just made a bit of a mess in the library. And when I say bit I mean huge, enormous...gargantuan. Anyway, that's not the point. The Academy scholars have rejected my application form, again. Some nonsense about not having enough experience in the field. How am I supposed to get any bloody experience if no one will give me the chance?" John plopped down in defeat on the base of a statue, next to a large pair of stone feet. He looked down at his hands resting in his lap. 

Mickey watched him for a moment, the sudden shift in attitude sobering him up. He pushed off his resting place and crouched down in front of John, who arched an eyebrow in response.

“You'll always have me, boss.” Mickey grinned, reaching up and returning the slap he had received earlier. John flinched then rubbed his cheek, smiling despite himself. Mickey sprang to his feet, a large carefree smile spreading across his face. “Besides, l have just the thing to cheer you up.” He turned back to the sarcophagus, rooting around for something in its depths.

“Oh, no, Mickey, not another worthless trinket.” John shook his head in muted frustration, running a hand through his already messy brown hair. “lf l have to take one more piece of junk to the curator to try and...sell for you--” John stopped his lecture as Mickey presented a small box of some sort in front of his face with a flourish. 

The object fit in the palm of his hand and was entirely black. It was hexagonal in shape with ancient writings covering the entire surface except for the top, where it was smooth save eight crooked lines stemming from an odd circle in the middle. John picked it up and turned the object over in his hands, scrutinizing it closely.

“Where did you get this?” John asked absently, running his long fingers over every surface. He had never seen anything like it. Yet he was certain there was someway to open it. If he could just find the release.

“On a dig down in, um...Arcadia,” Mickey replied, shrugging. His tone turned pleading as he watched John examine the object. “My whole life l've never found anything, John. Please, tell me l've found something.”

John pressed his tongue against the back of his upper front teeth. Holding the artifact carefully in his hands, he twisted the top and bottom halves in opposite directions. There was an audible click then the top sprung open, revealing an old folded up piece of parchment tucked away inside.

“Mickey," he hedged, trying not to sound too excited until he knew exactly what it was.

“Yeah?” Mickey asked hopefully, staring wide eyed at the object in John's hands.

“l think you've found something.” John smiled widely as he gingerly removed the parchment.

.....

Mickey had indeed found something. Something brilliant, amazing, fantastic even. Once John had recognized the hieratic indicating the long lost City of the Dead, he sprang into action. It wasn't just some odd scrap of writing, it was a map. Without giving him any explanation, Mickey was left with no choice but to follow, hoping his brother's excitement was for a very good reason. The pair was now in Harriet's office; Mickey standing awkwardly to the side while John paced the room, a big ball of energy ready to bounce off the walls at any moment.

"You see the cartouche there," John said, pointing at a particular spot on the map as he leaned over Harriet's desk. She was seated at the large piece of furniture, papers and odds and ends spread across the entire surface, and peering at the map through her gold rimmed glasses. John straightened and resumed pacing. "lt's the official royal seal of Romana the First, l'm sure of it."

"Perhaps," Harriet replied, her tone unusually guarded.

"Two questions," Mickey interjected, coming closer to the desk with greed gleaming in his dark eyes. "Who the hell was Romana the First, and was he rich?"

" _She_ ," John corrected, "Was the second pharaoh of the 19th dynasty. She was actually said to be the wealthiest pharaoh of them all."

"Good. l like this babe. I like her _very_ much." Mickey rubbed his hands together, already looking like the cat that had caught the canary.

"Mickey," John warned, drawing out the last syllable.

Mickey began to roll his eyes, but halted at Harriet's arched brow. He swallowed, mouthed an apology then backed up to where he had been standing before. Where he was several feet away from Harriet and any damage she might be wanting to inflict.

"l've already dated the map," John continued, trying to draw Harriet's attention. "lt's almost 3,000 years old. And if you look at the hieratic just here..." John strode quickly to Harriet's side, pointing to another symbol in the bottom right corner of the paper. "It's Trenzalore."

"Don't be ridiculous," Harriet scoffed, removing her glasses and leaning back in her chair. "Trenzalore doesn't exist. We're intellectuals, not treasure hunters. Most of us anyway," she eyed Mickey carefully before continuing. "Trenzalore’s a myth told by ancient Gallifreyan storytellers to amuse Greek and Roman tourists."

"Yes, yes," John replied, pacing once more and speaking with frantic hand gestures. "I know all the nonsense about the city being protected by the curse of a mummy, dark magic and what have you. But," he paused dramatically and held up a finger as he looked directly at Harriet, "My research has led me to believe that the city itself may have actually existed."

"Are we talking about _the_ Trenzalore?" Mickey asked skeptically as he came to hunch over the desk beside Harriet.

"Oh, yes." John smiled widely, barely noticing that Harriet had gotten extremely quiet. Mickey may be an idiot, but he wasn't stupid. "The City of the Dead. Where the earliest pharaohs were said to have hidden the wealth of Gallifrey."

"Yeah, in a big, underground treasure chamber." Mickey spoke haltingly, wandering the room as his brain raced ahead to the possibilities of untold treasure still waiting to be found. Harriet snorted loudly in her seat, causing him to spin in her direction and speak defensively. "Oh, come on. Everyone knows the story, including me. The entire place was rigged to sink into the sand on Pharaoh's command. Disappearing beneath the sand dunes...taking the treasure with it."

Mickey walked behind Harriet's chair, John mirroring his actions as his step brother recounted the tale in its most condensed form. The two stared at each other, lost to their own thoughts. Mickey dreaming of wealth and glory. John thinking of history and the next big discovery.

"As the Americans would say," Harriet responded dryly, neither man paying her much attention, "It's all fairy tales and hokum--Oh, my goodness! Look at that!”

John and Mickey turned to see the map fluttering to the floor, an orange glow licking it’s way across the faded parchment. Both men hustled around the desk, crouching down and hastily patting it with their bare hands. Heat stung John’s palms, but he grit his teeth and between him and Mickey the flame was extinguished in a matter of seconds. Gingerly lifting the damaged item from the floor, they held the map between the two of them as they rested on their knees. John’s heart sank as he took in the damage.

“You've burnt it! You've burned off the part with the lost city,” Mickey shouted at Harriet, disbelief and indignation warring in his tone.

“lt's for the best, l'm sure,” Harriet responded haughtily. John and Mickey stared at her. For his part, John could not understand why Harriet was so against the possible discovery of the ancient city. She ran a museum for Omega's sake. Harriet narrowed her eyes and clasped her hands together atop her desk. “Many men have wasted their lives in the foolish pursuit of Trenzalore. No one's ever found it. Most...have never returned.”

“Oh, come--” Mickey began, 

“That’s enough from you, Mister Mickey,” Harriet snapped, making Mickey flinch. She leaned forward to peer down at them from her position, using it to her advantage and emphasizing her authority. “And I do believe John here has a library to clean up. So, if you’ll excuse me. I trust you can find the door.”

Muttering under their breaths, both men stood and stalked out of the room, shoulders hunched and invisible tails tucked between their legs. They walked in silence to the library, John looking down helplessly at the ruined artifact in his hands. Mickey’s hands clapped him hard on the shoulders, jerking him out of his reverie. John jumped and spun around, glaring at his brother.

“Don’t look so down,” Mickey said with a sly smile.

“And why shouldn’t I?” John snapped, his frustration of the day’s events reaching a breaking point. “Do you have any idea what this could have meant for me? I know you were only in it for the treasure, but--”

“Whoa there, boss,” Mickey held up his hands in a plea to surrender, but his smile never wavered. “No need to get your knickers in a twist.”

“Mickey, I do not--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Just...do us a favor? Clean this up and be ready to leave in the morning, yeah?”

“Leave?" John blinked in confusion. They didn't have anything planned for tomorrow, did they? He knew could be forgetful, but he wasn't _that_ bad. "Leave for where?”

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” he said with a wink, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

John sighed in resignation and tucked the map into a jacket pocket. Whatever the surprise, it had better be worth the effort of cleaning up this disaster in only a matter of hours. If not, he was going to kill Mickey.


	3. Just Looking For a Good Time

“Hello, gentlemen,” The woman purred, letting her piercing blue eyes travel over each man in turn. John nervously rubbed the back of his neck, her gaze lingering on him far longer than he deemed necessary, or appropriate. She was pretty in a conventional sort of way, with long sleek black hair and chopped bangs hanging across her forehead. But _that_ wasn't why they were here. Not to mention, something about her already rubbed him the wrong way. “My name is Christina de Souza. Welcome to Panopticon Prison. This way.” She flashed a smile before turning on her heel and walking into the compound.

Mickey’s surprise turned out to be a trip to the local prison. It hadn't taken long for John to put two and two together. His mood turned more sour as they followed Christina to the prisoner they were here to see. The place was crowded and filthy. A large interior courtyard, the floor being nothing but dirt, was surrounded on all sides by three stories of jail cells. Men wandered in the area with the sun beating down on them, baking the layers of grime and dust into their skin. An unpleasant permeating stench of sweat filled John’s nostrils, making him swallow a gag.

“You told me that you got it on a dig down in Arcadia,” John hissed between clenched teeth as he bumped shoulders with his brother, both of them following the warden cautiously through the courtyard.

“Guess l was wrong.” Mickey brushed off John’s harsh tone, his eyes skittering nervously from one inmate to the next.

“You lied," John snapped, looking around uncertainly.

“l lie to everyone. What makes you so special?”

“l am your brother,” John insisted. Why Mickey hadn’t simply told him the truth was beyond comprehension. Although now he could understand the need for the day’s location to be a surprise. As soon as they were out of this place, he was definitely going to kill him.

“Step brother,” Mickey corrected then shrugged his shoulders. “Just makes you more gullible.”

“You stole it from a drunk at the local pub,” John shot back.

“Picked his pocket, actually.” Mickey corrected reluctantly. He grabbed John’s arm and tried to swing them back around to the exit. “So l don't think it's a very good--”

“Stop being so ridiculous,” John chastised, yanking free of his grasp and striding to catch up with Christina. Might as well get what they were after. Not like the man could do any harm to either of them from behind bars. Well, shouldn’t be able to. Hopefully. He was suddenly struck with the unsettling notion that the man they were here to see would turn out to be one of the convicts currently walking freely around them. “What exactly is this man in prison for?” he asked the warden uncertainly.

“l don’t know,” Christa replied, shrugging her shoulders and standing next to an empty prison cell. “When l heard that you were coming, l asked her that myself.”

“And what did she say?” John asked, then blinked. “Wait, did you say _her_?”

Christina gave him a coy smile. “ _She_ said she was just looking for a good time.”

The brown metal door at the back of the cell burst open. Two guards escorted in a woman with her head held high, one man for each of her arms. They released their hold once they were in the middle of the cell. Her hair was matted and tangled, a layer of dirt disguising the fact that she was blonde underneath. Her face was covered in the same dust, dark spots streaking her pale face. Her hazel eyes had a wild quality to them and John couldn’t help but stare. She was clothed in a pair of high leather boots, stained breeches, and a tattered button up top that had the sleeves ripped off at the shoulders. Highly unusual clothing for a woman, but then again...she was also in jail.

One of the guards gently nudged her forward with his billy club until she was against the bars. Placing the club on her shoulder, he applied enough pressure until she slid obediently down to her knees, clenching her jaw and eyeing the club until it was removed. The man backed up, watching her warily and talking quietly with the other guard.

“ _This_ is the woman that you stole it from?” John asked Mickey in disbelief, still staring at the woman.

“Yeah,” Mickey whispered, ducking his head. “I may have gotten a bit handsy, so why don't we just go and--”

“Who are you?” the woman asked, looking at Mickey in confusion and cutting him off. Her gaze fell to John, who tried his best not to fidget. “And who’s the tosser?”

“ _Tosser_?” John squeaked.

“l-l'm just a local sort of...missionary chap, spreading the good word.” Mickey, always the swindler, talked quickly in an effort to keep his real identity a secret. He grabbed John’s arm and pulled him forward, closer to the bars. “But this is my brother, John.”

“Er, hello. How do you do?” John gave a nervous little wave accompanied by a crooked smile.

The woman eyed him up and down, something feral shining in her eyes, before she shrugged. “Guess he's not a total loss.”

“Excuse me?” Now she had gone to far. Although why an insult coming from a prisoner should bother him so much, John hadn’t the foggiest notion.

Several shouts came from the other side of the courtyard, temporarily drawing their attention.

“l'll be back in a moment,” Christina said with a polite smile before heading off towards the disturbance.

“Ask her about the box,” Mickey muttered.

“Um, we have found--” John began, but quickly realized the woman wasn’t paying him any attention. Her eyes had followed Christina and were now focused on some far part of the courtyard. He cleared his throat and took another step forward. “Uh, hello. Excuse me. We both found your puzzle box...and we've come to ask you about it?” He wasn’t sure how else to explain the item to her, she didn’t exactly strike him as a person of intellect.

“No,” she replied after a moment, shaking her head.

“No?” John mimicked with a frown. Mickey had been nodding along comically and was now mirroring John’s bewildered expression.

“No,” she repeated firmly, her hands resting on the lone horizontal bar that ran across her cell. “You came to ask me about Trenzalore.”

“Shhhh.” Mickey leaned forward, his finger pressed against his lips. Then stood back up and looked around, making sure no one overheard their conversation.

“H-How do you know the box pertains to Trenzalore?” John asked, distinctly puzzled.

“Because that's where l was when l found it." She paused, looking at him as if she were talking to a child. "I was there.”

John ground his teeth together, her expression and tone one he was not used to being on the receiving end of. 

“But how do we know that's not a load of bollocks?” Mickey prodded and crossed the remaining distance, crouching down to eye level with the woman.

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing his face. “Do l know you?”

“No, no,” Mickey tried to back pedal, nervous laughter tumbling from his lips. “l've just got one of those faces.”

The woman’s eyes widened. Her fist shot out and connected with Mickey’s nose with a loud crunch. Mickey spun to the side then crumpled to the ground, writhing in pain. One of the guards cracked his club across her back. She winced, gripping the bars tightly and stifled a groan as the guard pressed the club into the sore spot.

John stood in stunned silence. Not because his brother had just gotten punched squarely in the face. It wasn’t the first time and it probably wouldn’t be the last. No, it had nothing to do with Mickey whatsoever. It had everything to do with the mysterious woman before him. Her words still rang in his ears. She had been to Trenzalore. But that was impossible. No one had ever found the lost city and survived. If they had, he would have known about it.

“You were actually at Trenzalore? Actually, properly there?” John pressed, stepping unceremoniously over Mickey, who was rolling side to side in the dirt and cradling his face.

“Yeah, l was there.” She grinned up at him, her pain forgotten.

“You swear?”

“Every bloody day.”

John’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “l didn't mean that--”

“l know. l really was there. Romana's place. City of the Dead.” She wiggled her fingers and made a mock look of horror.

“Could you tell me how to get there?” John glanced around then came to stand right in front of the bars. He crouched down, making his eyes even with hers, and dropped his tone to a whisper. “l mean, the exact location.”

“You want to know?” she asked with an arched brow, gripping the bars near her face.

“W-Well, yes.” He couldn’t believe that was actually a question. He wouldn’t be asking otherwise.

“Do you really want to know?” She was watching him carefully, her joking demeanor seeming to have vanished.

“Oh, yes,” John breathed. The woman leaned forward and beckoned him closer with the crook of her finger. He inclined his head in her direction, his heart hammering in his chest. He was once again on the brink of progress that could lead to the most important discovery of his lifetime. He was only vaguely aware of the sounds in the background. The fact that his face was now mere inches from this strange woman’s barely a thought that crossed his mind.

Her small hand gripped him forcefully by the chin, yanking him forward. Instinctively he shut his eyes and puckered his lips. Her mouth crashed against his, a firm unyielding pressure as she held him in place. For a moment, all thought escaped him, his mind oddly quiet. A small part of his brain made a mental note of how smooth her lips felt under his and he wondered what it would be like to kiss her under different circumstances. His eyes popped open and he flailed his arms in the air. This was...she shouldn’t be…

She released his lips with an audible pop, but kept her fingers securely around his chin, their noses bumping together.

“Then get me the hell out of here!” she growled. Her hand dropped from his chin as she shot to her feet, twirling around to avoid being attacked by one of the guards. Clenching her fists together, she brought them down hard on the man’s back, sending him to his knees. She looked back to John with a fierce urgency in her eyes. “Just do it, mister!” The guard still standing pulled the woman’s hands behind her back as another man came into the cell. It took all three men to force her back through the door.

John stepped back, his mind a chaotic mix of thoughts. He didn’t even know this woman’s name, yet she wanted him to free her from this place. And the kiss...he shook his head. No, that wasn’t important. She knew the location of Trenzalore, _that_ was important. He had to try.

“Where are they taking her?” John asked Christina, who had come back over at some point during the commotion and was leaning against the now empty cell.

“To be hanged,” she replied, appraising him with an arched brow. “Apparently, she had a _very_ good time.” She pushed away from the bars and headed off through the courtyard.

John stared at her back for a stunned moment. He looked down at Mickey who was lying flat on his back and gingerly prodding his nose.

“She hit me!” his brother whined.

Groaning in frustration, John took off after the warden. His long strides had him catching up to her in no time, just as she was entering a shadowed stairway. “Christina, wait.” She glanced at him over her shoulder, but otherwise ignored him. 

The hall led up to a slightly open area with a handful of wooden chairs that looked out over another courtyard. A gallows sat in the center, more rows of cells lining the area. The cells were full of prisoners, clamoring eagerly against the bars. Bile churned in his stomach at the thought of this being qualified as entertainment. John swallowed hard, standing uncertainly on the landing. Christina sat in one of the worn chairs and flipped her dark hair over her shoulder.

The courtyard erupted in various shots and protests as the blonde was escorted across the dirt and up the stairs to the gallows. His heart plummeted to the ground. This was not good. This was very not good.

“Christina, please,” John pleaded, sliding into the chair beside her. There had to be some way to free her, he wouldn’t be denied his chance at discovery again. “l will give you 100 pounds to save this woman's life.”

Christina snorted, her eyes fixed on the other woman as the noose was slipped over her head. “l would pay 100 pounds just to see her hang,” she sneered.

“Two! Two hundred pounds.”

“Proceed!” She pointedly ignored him, crossing her legs and leaning back in her seat.

“Three hundred pounds.” John’s offer was met with stony silence. His mind raced as he watched an exchange between the guard and the woman on the platform. He winced, helplessly looking on as the noose was pulled tight. The guard turned and shouted something up at Christina in a halting dialect John couldn’t fully understand.

“Of course we don't let her go!” Christina yelled down, leaning forward and slapping her hands on her thigh. She groaned then closed her eyes, breathing deeply. The guard on the platform whacked the blonde in the back of the head then walked over to the lever that would drop the floor from beneath her feet.

“Five hundred pounds!” John turned to Christina, not caring that a hint of desperation had crept into his voice.

“Wait!” Christina called down then shifted to look at him. She grinned with a predatory gleam in her blue eyes. “And what else? l accept alternative forms of...payment.” Her voice was low and teasing, her hand reaching out to stroke his cheek then sliding down to toy with the top button of his collar.

John blinked rapidly, his adam’s apple bobbing as he floundered for a response. “Um...I...that is, I don’t…” She fluttered her lashes and began walking her fingers down his chest, leaving no room for misunderstanding. He snatched her wrist, gently pulling her hand away just before she reached his waistline and shook his head. “No. I do not believe that would be _appropriate_.”

Laughter rang out across the courtyard, all eyes on Christina as she yanked her hand away. She glared at him, grinding her jaw. Turning to the courtyard she barked down to the guards. “Do it!”

The guard yanked on the lever.

“No!” John cried, springing to his feet and watching in wide eyed horror.

The woman dropped down like a lead weight as the floor disappeared from beneath her feet. There was a sickening snap as the rope pulled tight, her body bouncing twice before swaying gently back and forth while she struggled uselessly.

“Oh, dear.” Christina’s voice was dripping with false sincerity. John fought the urge to get sick over the low wall. “Her neck didn’t break. Oh, l'm so sorry. Now we’ll have to watch her strangle to death.”

He spun around, feeling a foreign desire to wipe the fake smile from her face. Prisoners began chanting for the woman’s release, a unifying thrum that sparked a desperate idea. His heart skipped a beat, there was one last option. 

“She knows the location to Trenzalore."

“You lie,” Christina spat.

“l would never!” he implored, sitting once more. His gaze flicked between the two women, adrenaline rushing through his body and setting him on edge.

“Are you telling me this filthy, classless wretch knows where to find the City of the Dead?” She laughed at the absurd idea.

“Yes.”

“Seriously?"

“Yes!" John snapped, sparing a quick glance at the woman who was quickly running out of air. "And if you cut her down, we will give you...ten percent."

Christina paused, precious seconds ticking away, before making a counteroffer. "Fifty percent."

"Twenty."

"Forty."

"Thirty!"

"Twenty-five," Christina shot back.

"Ha!" John exclaimed, pointing at Christina with a wide grin on his face. "Deal."

Christina blinked then groaned as she caught her mistake. She sighed before shouting down to the courtyard. "Cut her down!"

John squinted as bright light glinted off a blade slicing through the air. The woman crashed to the ground with a thud, choking and gasping for air. Pushing to her hands and knees, she lifted her head, her eyes peeking from behind a curtain of tangled hair.

John rose to his feet, burying his hands in his pockets and looked down at her with a smug expression. He rocked on his heels, immensely proud of himself and already planning their journey.

.....

After collecting Mickey and working out the details of their trip, the men dropped the woman off at a local inn for the night. Rose Tyler was her name and John had taken an instant disliking to her. She was crude, brash, and extremely stubborn. She had challenged him on more than one occasion during their ten minute conversation. Insisting she would be able to get what she needed on her own, John and Mickey headed back to their own house to prepare themselves and inform Harriet, who was a bit nonplussed at the new information.

The next morning, John and Mickey wove their way through the throng of busy travelers at the port. Their first venture was a boat ride down the river. John's eyes roamed the crowd, his height giving him a distinct advantage. They were nearly to the boat and there was still no sign of their _guide_. He huffed, twisting his body around to look behind him as they kept walking.

"Do you really think she's going to show up?" John asked, no longer able to keep his irritation to himself.

"Yeah, knowing my luck," Mickey half whined, absently rubbing his nose. "She's a bit rough, but I know her type. Her word is her word."

"Well, personally l think she's filthy, exceedingly rude, and I bet she uses her gender to her advantage every chance she gets. Or tries to rather. If yesterday was any indication, she'll be hard pressed to convince anyone to do anything in that manner." John's mind drifted to the kiss she had forced on him yesterday and he dropped his bags to the ground with more force than was necessary. They had reached the gangway to the ship and still no sign of Rose. "l don't like her one bit."

"Anyone l know?" A female voice asked from behind them.

Both men spun around, their jaws going slack. Her appearance was drastically different from how they had last seen her, but there was no mistaking the hazel eyes watching them both with muted amusement. Gone was the dirt and filth that had covered every part of her the day before. Her face was scrubbed clean, revealing smooth fair skin, and her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, a few stray blonde strands framing her face. She wore a white blouse beneath a cream jacket and tan trousers tucked into brown leather boots that stopped just below her knees. Her look was altogether unusual but fit her just the same. Fit her as well as the trousers clinging to her...John snapped his jaw shut and elbowed Mickey in the side.

"Um, hello." John tugged on his ear and gave her a lopsided grin, trying to ignore her returning smirk.

"Smashing day for the start of an adventure, eh, Tyler?" Mickey clapped her on the shoulder. John arched an eyebrow at his brother's overcompensation. 

"Yeah." Rose eyed Mickey curiously, trying to suppress a giggle. "Yeah, smashing." She set her bag down and reached into her jacket pocket, inspecting the contents and verifying that everything was still there.

"Oh, no, no, l'd never steal from a mate..." Mickey trailed off, reaching his hand out to pat her arm but thinking better of it. Instead he jerked his hand back to straighten the jacket of his casual cream suit. He forced a nervous smile and inclined his head towards her, repeating the word for emphasis. "Mate."

Rose quirked a brow at him, then shrugged and replaced the items in her pocket. She chewed her lip a moment. "That reminds me. No hard feelings about the..." She trailed off and mimed a punching motion at Mickey's face.

"Naw." Mickey shook his head and smiled, waving her off before putting his hands in the pockets of his breeches that were tucked into his knee high socks. "Happens all the time."

"Miss Tyler." John cleared his throat and drew himself up to his full height, straightening the jacket of his dark brown pinstriped suit. "Can you look me in the eye and guarantee me this isn't some kind of a gimmick? Because if it is, l am warning you--"

"You're warning me?" Rose scoffed, then took a step forward. She tilted her chin up, meeting his gaze head on. "Let me put it this way: My whole bloody garrison believed in this so much, that without orders, they marched halfway across Karn and into Gallifrey to find that city. When we got there, all we found was sand and blood." Her eyes had taken on a slightly haunted quality as she spoke, but there was no trace of fear. John swallowed and shared a nervous glance with Mickey. Abruptly, her attitude shifted and she forced a smile. "Let me get your bags. Wouldn't want your skinny arse to break before we've even started."

John gaped as she stooped down to pick up her bag in one hand and his in the other. Skinny? He may be thin, but he wasn't an invalid. Quite manly, thank you very much. His eyes followed her as she marched up the ramp to the boat. He wasn't sure whether to curse or thank the ancient gods for Rose's attire, unable to tear his eyes away.

"Yeah," Mickey muttered near John's shoulder. "You're right, boss. Filthy, rude, completely ugly. Which, I think, is what you were implying. Or just that she wasn't to be trusted seeing as she's a woman. Either way...nothing to like there at all." Mickey smirked as he came to stand in front of John, who rolled his eyes in an attempt to recover.

"Good morning boys."

Both men whipped their heads around to find Christina de Souza standing a few feet away. She looked packed and ready for a long journey.

"Oh, no," John groaned. "What are you doing here?"

"l'm just here to protect my investment." She gave a slow smile then walked up to John, toying with his tie. "My other offer still stands. If you change your mind." She gave him a wink before heading up the ramp.

John shuddered. As much as Rose grated on his nerves, and he still felt she wasn't to be completely trusted, she was nothing compared to the other woman. He genuinely could _not_ stand Christina. One brief day in her presence had been enough to last him a lifetime. In fact, it had been entirely too much time. He glanced over at Mickey, who's eyes were dancing with mirth. His brother opened his mouth to speak, but John cut him off.

"Don't," he warned, holding up a hand and shaking his head. "Just...don't."

Mickey made a zipping motion across his lips then headed to the ship, laughing his way up the ramp.

John thrust his hands into his pockets and grudgingly stomped up the gangway. It was going to be a very long trip.


	4. Someday I Might

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to jabber-who-key11 for the beta and extra help. :D

Rose carried her tan over-sized bag containing her sizable assortment of weapons through the corridor. It had been a rather uneventful first day of their journey. The heat of the day drove everyone to their own private rooms, something she was thankful for. After spending too long in a jail, surrounded by too many people, she was glad for the solitude. She wasn't exactly thrilled about going back _there_. But it was better than being strung up from the gallows. She would much rather go out in a blaze of bullets and with a fight, than having no control or choice in the matter.

She had given little thought to the two men she was escorting the Lost City. Having barely spoken to either one, despite their room being across the hall, she didn't have much to form an opinion on. But she had seen enough to know that they would both be a liability. They weren't cut out for the desert...or whatever lay within the ruins of their ultimate destination. Oh well, a deal was a deal. Besides, she never promised to bring them back.

Sighing, she exited the door that led to the deck. The setting of the sun had coaxed the passengers from their confines, the gentle breeze calling out to them in a soft whisper. Rose was no exception. And she supposed she should try and speak to at least one of the brothers to get a better feel for what exactly they were after. There had to be a reason other than the random whim for an adventure.

Light upbeat music plinked beneath the constant chatter of the mingling passengers. Tables placed close together covered the deck as people laughed and chatted amongst themselves. The servers moved quietly in the background, drifting from the small bar beside the door and back to the patrons.

"Stop fiddling with your glasses and cut the deck, boy." A short, and slightly rotund man with close cropped dark hair was staring down the woman sitting next to him. She was cleaning a pair of glasses off with a small strip of cloth, seated at the table directly in front of Rose with the man and two other people.

"Without my glasses l can't see the deck to cut it, Strax," she spoke calmly, placing her small framed spectacles back on her face. Her brown eyes blinked rapidly as they readjusted to the lens and then she straightened her dark hair that was piled in a messy bun on the very top of her head.

"And _her_ name is Jenny." The other woman at the table corrected with a haughty air. Her bright blonde hair was also pulled back in a bun, but the placement was meticulous, not a strand was out of place. She stared down the man with fierce green eyes, her hands placed carefully on the table as the other woman cut the deck.

"Rose!" Mickey exclaimed, looking over his shoulder as Rose kicked the door shut behind her. She arched a brow at the sudden first name basis. Mickey merely took it as an invitation to continue speaking. "Sit down. We could use another player."

"I only gamble with my life, never my money," she replied smoothly, eyeing the other players at the table. That wasn’t entirely true, but she had no desire to join in their game at the moment.

"Never?" The blonde asked, eyeing Rose up and down.

"What if l were to challenge you in a battle of skill?” Strax cut in, never breaking eye contact as he dealt cards around the table. “Five hundred dollars in a wager that we get to Trenzalore before you?"

"You're looking for Trenzalore?" Rose asked quietly, looking at each person in turn. This was too much of a coincidence.

"That is a correct assumption,” Strax replied with a smug grin.

"And who says we are?" she asked smoothly, forcing a smile.

"He does." Three voices spoke in unison as three fingers pointed directly at Mickey.

"Well..." Mickey trailed off, gulping nervously and glancing at Rose before turning back around and slumping his shoulders.

"Come, child. Do we have a wager?" Strax was arranging the cards in his hand and eyeing her greedily.

"All right, you're on." Rose had probably agreed a little too quickly, but she didn't take kindly to the condescending tones being tossed in her direction. She was young, yes. That didn't mean she was a child, or an idiot.

"What makes you so confident?" An inquiring voice came from a woman seated nearby, lounging in one of the chairs at the nearest table with a large book in her hands. She had dirty blonde hair that sprung out from her scalp in a thick mane of curls. Her grey-green eyes were watching Rose in a calculated manner, awaiting a response.

"What makes you?" Rose countered, diverting the conversation elsewhere. She had never advertised the fact that she had been to Trenzalore and she wasn't about to start now.

"We have a man who has actually braved the dangers of the ruins," Strax said, his chest puffing up with confidence. Rose arched an eyebrow. Well, there was a surprise. Before Rose could respond, Mickey opened his big fat mouth and began jabbering away.

"Oh, that's too funny, because Rose--" Mickey jerked forward as she hefted her bag to her shoulder, knocking him in the back with the heavy item. He cleared his throat and looked around the table. "Whose play is it? ls it--ls it my play? l thought.."

"Mates, we have a wager. Good evening, Mickey." Rose forced a broad grin to the opposing team as she placed a hand on Mickey's shoulder, squeezing as she said his name until he flinched.

"Good night," he mumbled to her back as she walked off in search of a quieter place on the deck.

Rose walked down the outermost part of the deck towards the end of the boat. The sounds and lights were dimmer here. Finding herself still over sensitized from the oppressive brightness and constant buzz of the prison, she breathed a sigh of relief at the change in scenery. The animals were kept at the rearmost part of the ship, to keep their stench from ruining the voyage for any of the human passengers. Just in front of their holding pen stood three tables. There was a solitary occupant at one of the larger tables. He was leaning back in the chair reading a book, his feet propped up on the table and his back turned to her. Rose smirked, there was no mistaking the tousled brown hair of John Smith.

Keeping her footsteps quiet over the wooden deck, Rose approached him slowly. She maneuvered her bag from its place on her shoulder, grasping it with both hands. He was so engrossed in his reading that she probably could have made more noise without him noticing. Oh, this was going to be good. Standing at the end of the table, she slammed her bag onto the flat surface, making it shake. John's long limbs flailed outward and he nearly toppled backwards out of his chair.

"Sorry," Rose said, fighting a giggle and working to undo the clasps of her bag. "Didn't mean to scare you."

John glared at her over his glasses and sat erect in his seat, straightening out his suit jacket. "The only thing that scares me, Miss Tyler, are your manners."

"Still angry about that kiss then?" She teased, pulling off her jacket and setting it on the table as he returned his attention to his book.

"Well,” he paused to look up at her, “if you call _that_ a kiss." 

Rose narrowed her eyes then wordlessly whipped her bag open to display several guns and plenty of ammo. John leaned forward, pulling off his glasses and closing his book in his lap. He frowned as he gingerly touched one of the items. "Er, did l miss something? I did make it clear that we were going to explore...not conquer the natives, did I not? Or are your listening skills as poor as your manners?"

"Look here, pretty boy.” Rose looked up from the revolver she had been examining. She spun the chamber once then placed the gun in the double holster she was wearing. “You may be heading there with the intention of harmless poking about, but there's something out there. Something beneath the sand."

"Right," he replied, drawing out the word. "Well, l'm hoping to find a certain artifact. A book, actually. A very important book to be precise. My brother thinks there's treasure..." He trailed off, picking up the trigger to one of the rifles that currently lay in pieces and holding it up in the air to examine it. "What _exactly_ is it that you think is out there?"

"ln a word?" Rose asked, eyeing him carefully, then shrugged. "Evil."

John snorted and shook his head. He made to scratch at his jaw, but realized he still had a hold of the trigger piece. 

"The Outsiders and the Shobogans believe that Trenzalore is cursed," Rose continued, snatching the part from his fingers and setting it down. She picked up a rifle to examine and polish as he continued talking.

"Oh, come on," John scoffed. "You may have been swept up in the stories, but l don't believe in fairy tales and myths, Miss Tyler. What I do believe in however, is the fact that one of the most famous books in history is buried there, according to all my research that is. It’ll be a shock if I’m proven wrong. Anyway, I’m looking for the Book of Omega. lt contains within it all the secret incantations of the old kingdom. Absolutely fascinating stuff that no one has seen for thousands of years. lt's what first interested me in Gallifrey when l was a child. lt's why l came here. Sort of a life's pursuit I suppose."

"And the fact that they say it's made out of pure gold makes no difference to you, yeah?" Rose asked with an arched brow, idly moving the cloth over the barrel. She had found herself oddly entranced by the excitement with which he had been speaking, his eyes bright and his hands waving through the air.

"So you _do_ know your history." He gave her a toothy grin, the first genuine smile she could remember seeing.

"l know my treasure." She gave him a wink then dropped the cloth and cocked her rifle with a loud click.

"Um, by the way..." John looked down at the table, tugging on his ear, then back up at her, the rest of his sentence tumbling out in a rush. "Why did you kiss me?"

Rose laughed nervously, picking up another pistol and focusing on that instead of his face. "l was about to be hanged. lt seemed like a good idea at the time." John snorted indignantly then nodded curtly before jumping to his feet and storming off, muttering under his breath. "What? What'd l say?" she called after him in mock confusion. She knew exactly what she had said and why she had said it that way. The odd comfort she had started to feel around him in the space of one conversation set her on edge and had her internal alarm bells clamoring for distance. 

If she thought about it though, quite frankly he deserved it. He may not believe in superstitions, she usually didn't either, but he shouldn't brush her warnings off so dismissively. _She_ was the one who had been to Trenzalore before. Besides, he was just so easy to tease. Laughing to herself, she gathered her things and headed back to her room.

An hour later, Rose cast a quick glance at herself in the mirror. She had changed into her night dress, a simple peach gown with a square neckline and sleeves that revealed her shoulders. She had opted to go with the shorter cut, the light fabric falling just below her knees. It wasn’t the usual appropriate attire, but she couldn’t be bothered to care. It afforded her freer movement, something she sorely needed as she paced around the small room. She hadn’t been able to sleep, or focus on anything else for that matter. 

An odd feeling pricked at her skin and scrambled her nerves. She couldn't place it, and another quick survey of her room reassured her that she was alone. Unable to shake the feeling, she grabbed her double holster, slipped on her equally short black robe, and then headed out the door. A quick round of the ship only lead her to conclude that most of the other occupants had also turned in for the night. Although, Mickey was still up and playing cards with his new friends, who were supposed to be the opposition. She ignored the odd looks from the few people she passed, keeping her mind on high alert for anything out of the ordinary.

She came to the table she had sat at earlier with John, when something clattered to the ground behind her. She whirled around, grabbing one of her loaded pistols from her holster and doing a quick sweep of the area with her eyes. A peculiar shadow next to where the luggage was stored caught her attention. She could just make out the vague outline of a person crouched in the narrow space. There was no way of knowing if they were intentionally hiding from her or not. Considering the nature of her destination, Rose wasn't going to take any chances.

Rose moved stealthily down the deck, her Torchwood training kicking in after months of being cooped up with a reassuring ease. She pressed her back against the pile of luggage, taking a deep breath and pulling back the hammer of the pistol. Lunging around the corner, she grabbed a fistful of the person's shirt and yanked them to a standing position. The person yelped and whimpered, trying to cower away from her and the pistol aimed at their head. Keeping her gun pointed at what she could now tell was a man, her eyes widened in shock. Garbed in black, save a red scarf tied loosely around his neck, Adam Mitchell was at her mercy. The anger bubbling in her chest quickly turned to disgust as he continued to stand with his eyes squeezed shut, whining like a threatened puppy.

"Surprise!" she exclaimed sarcastically, shaking him gently.

Adam popped one eye open, taking in her appearance. Once he recognized her, he opened both eyes and gave her a relieved smile. "Oh, Rose! My good friend, you're alive! l was so, so worried."

"Adam, my best mate," she replied with grin, lowering the gun. Just as his posture relaxed, she shoved the barrel into his chest. "l think l'll kill you."

"Think of my children."

Rose blinked, her mind working backwards to their past conversations. The bloody git was trying to pull one over her. She snapped at him, "You don't have any children."

"Someday l might,” he said with a forced yearning.

"Shut up!” After what he had done to her in Trenzalore, she really should rid the planet of his cowardly existence. Or at least give him a good Tyler slap. Suddenly another piece of the puzzle clicked into place. “So you're the one who's leading the other group. l should have guessed. What's the con? You take them into the desert, and then you leave 'em to rot?"

"Unfortunately, no.” Adam sighed dramatically and shook his head. “This group is smarter than the usual lot. They're paying me only half now, half when l get them back to Panopticon. So this time l have to go all the way."

"What a shame." Rose rolled her eyes and finally released him, stepping back and placing her pistol back in its holster.

"You never believed in Trenzalore, Tyler." Adam gave her a funny look as he adjusted his shirt. "Why are you going back?"

Rose looked down the deck, surprised to find John murmuring to one of the camels, still dressed in his suit. "You see that man?" She inclined her head in his direction. They locked eyes for an instant before he squared his shoulders and marched out of sight. Rose sighed and shook her head, maybe she had been a little too hard on him. "He saved my life," she half whispered, feeling eternally grateful for still being alive. For a little longer at least.

"You always did have an eye for the good looking ones," Adam chuckled, elbowing her in the ribs and walking around to her other side. Rose glared at his back, but had a smile in place by the time he turned to face her.

"You know," she purred, fluttering her lashes and stepping well into his space. "You aren't so bad yourself." She placed a hand gently on his chest, following him as he swallowed audibly and walked backwards.

"Yeah?" Adam choked out, his eyes widening as he fully realized what she was wearing. Taking another step back, he bumped into the wall that separated him from a tumble into the water below, bending backwards awkwardly at the waist as Rose all but pressed herself against him.

"Yeah." Rose gave him a disarming smile then moved to whisper in his ear. "Good-bye, Adam." She pulled back and took a small moment to cherish the confused look on his face before dropping to the ground and grabbing his ankles. Using his surprise to her advantage, she lifted him up, toppling him over the side of the boat.

"Tyler!" Adam's scream was punctuated with a satisfying splash as he crashed into the river below. Immensely pleased with herself, having gotten rid of a nuisance and the other group's guide, Rose continued her sweep, just in case.

Coming almost full circle, she glanced down and froze. Small puddles of water began by the low wall and continued across the deck. Footprints. Rose gripped the wall and looked over into the river, nothing. Could Adam have gotten back on board? No. She wouldn’t put it past him to be hanging on to the boat somehow, but he didn't have the courage or upper body strength to climb all the way back up to the deck. Not to mention, she had tossed him in on the other side of the boat.

Furrowing her brow, she reexamined the tracks. They were headed towards the bedrooms.

John.


	5. Can You Swim?

''Ian Chesterson, in eighteen-sixty..." John lost his train of thought, missing his mark as he attempted to place his suit jacket on the back of a chair. He didn't notice as it crumpled to the floor in a lopsided heap. He paced around his room, preparing for sleep and cramming in some late night studies. Or attempting too at any rate. "Eighteen-sixty _five_ was...was..." he started again, tugging the knot of his tie free. Once again, his mind went blank. Well, not blank. Unless blank was code for blonde hair and hazel eyes and lips that...He growled and whipped his tie from under his collar, bunching it up before tossing it angrily aside. "Oh, for Omega's sake. It wasn't that good of a kiss, anyway." 

He stomped over to the vanity, slamming down the small book he had been using in a fit of defiance against his uncooperative brain. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and looking at his reflection in the mirror. After unbuttoning the cuffs of his Oxford, he decided to roll the sleeves up. He should be undressing and getting some rest, but his body was too wired. He had taken a walk earlier, hoping to still his restless mind after the exchange with Rose. For a time it had seemed to work. Until he had spotted her on deck, again.

Only this time she had been dressed in night clothes. Night clothes that had exposed creamy calves and tempted the imagination to wander higher. He hadn't, of course. He was a gentlemen after all. Well, that and she was already out with some other bloke, looking disgustingly chummy. He groaned. Who she spent her time with and what she did in said time, was none of his business. He whipped his arms in front of him and shook them a bit, testing the stability of his rolled sleeves. Accidentally bumping his book in the process, it fell to the ground with a quiet thud.

Huffing loudly, John bent over to retrieve the object. Standing up, his eyes bugged wide and he opened his mouth to yell as he caught sight of a man cloaked in all black with strange writing on his cheeks in the reflection of the mirror. The wind was knocked out of him before he could call for help as the intruder slammed him into the wall next to the vanity. A strong hand gripped his arm, whipping him around then pushing him back against the wall by his neck, the back of his head becoming painfully acquainted with the off white paint. He gulped as a jagged blade where a hand should have been pressed into his other cheek.

“Where is the map?” the man hissed, his voice low and gravelly.

“lt's…” John stared at the man, his heart racing in his chest, and tried to get his panicky thoughts into some sort of order. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them and inclined his head slightly to a small table just to his left. “lt's there.”

The man followed John’s gaze to where the map lay spread out over the table. Turning back, he increased the pressure of the blade. “And the key? Where is the key?”

“The key?” John blinked. He didn’t know anything about a bloody key. The blade dug into his cheek, and he expected it to draw blood at any moment. “The key? What key?”

The man’s eyes narrowed and John winced, waiting for the punishment that was sure to follow. The door burst open, drawing the intruder’s attention. John felt hope burst through the fear, it was Rose. She was still in her night clothes but her pistols were drawn and she had a look of steely determination on her face.

“John!” Rose shouted, looking around the room before spotting them and pointing her guns at the man who still had his hand around John’s throat. In one fluid motion, the man yanked John away from the wall and pushed him forward. For a naive moment, John thought the man was simply going to let him go and he smiled in relief, ready to run to where Rose was standing. The smile was wiped from his face as the man pulled him back against his chest. One arm wrapped around his shoulders and neck, holding him firmly in place, while the arm with the blade was once more directed at John’s face.

Rose’s eyes dropped down to the candle resting on the table beside the map. The flame flickered, a small breeze bursting through the room, and John’s brow furrowed in confusion. His jaw dropped in awe as she swiveled with a practised ease and fired shots at a man who appeared in the small window, throwing the wooden shutter open. She stepped to the side, firing bullets into the wall and following the man’s trajectory as he jerked and fell out of sight. A couple rounds hit the still burning lamp on the wall, knocking it out of place. It toppled to the muted red couch beneath it, setting the cloth alite in blinding yellow flames.

John’s adrenaline kicked in and he used his captor’s distraction to his advantage. Stretching out his arm, he snatched the long stemmed candle off the table and blindly thrust it backwards. The candle met resistance, and he assumed he hit flesh as the man released him, groaning in pain. Another black figure filled the window, sending John scurrying behind Rose. Normally he would balk at using a woman for a human shield, but in this circumstance...she was armed and was clearly the more capable of the two of them when it came to combat. He kept his eyes on the door, the sound of bullets and cracking wood filling his ears as she exchanged fire with the new attacker. Gripping her waist, he tried to make himself as small a target as possible as they made their way across the room and to the exit.

John dived out of the room, slamming into the opposite wall before taking off down the corridor. Rose paused in the hall, firing extra rounds into the room before reloading. He had only taken three steps when ice flooded his veins. The map. Without it they were lost. He spun around and dashed back to his room.

“The map! l forgot the map!” he shouted in an all consuming panic. His life had just been threatened, but the terror he felt about once again coming close to Trenzalore and then failing was something he felt down to his core. He couldn’t fail, not again...not this time.

“Relax,” Rose ordered, grabbing his arm with more force than he thought possible and twirled him back around. “It’s all here,” she said calmly, pointing to her head.

“You’ll have to excuse me if I don’t find that very comforting,” he shot back. They stood in the hall and his gaze darted between her and his room that was now billowing out smoke. Rose shoved her guns into the double leather holster slung loosely over her robe then ducked into her room. She reemerged with the brown bag she had carried earlier, the one that he knew contained all her weapons. She shoved the bag at him, his grip fumbling for a moment before holding the item comfortably with one hand. He stared back at his room, the light from the fire inside brighter than before.

“Come on,” she urged, grabbing his hand and pulling out one of her guns. She lead them down the hallway to a door that opened out onto the deck. High pitched brays from the animals and forceful shouting could be heard echoing above, the sounds of gunshots splintering wood and softer targets set his heart thumping painfully against his rib cage.

Rose dropped his hand as she edged through the door, keeping her back to the short stretch of wall just outside and adjusting the chamber of her revolver. He followed behind her, his eyes wide at the scene of chaos and destruction before him. Flames licked their way along the deck as animals ran loose and passengers frantically jumped into the water below.

Two shots rang loudly in his ears, puncturing the wall just around the corner from where Rose stood. She jerked back and shoved her hand into what he assumed was a pocket of her dressing gown. He glanced around, bouncing on the balls of his feet with nervous energy as she reloaded her pistol. His head snapped back around when a loud crack sounded too close. A jagged hole nearly the size of a billiard ball appeared in the furthest edge of the wall. He flinched as another shot fractured the wood, this time closer. Another...and another...inching closer to where Rose was standing as if she were bullet proof.

On instinct, he reached out, snagging a handful of her holster and robe. The odd combination of leather and silk registered somewhere in his brain, halting his words but not his actions. He yanked her towards him just as two more bullets whizzed through the air, piercing through the wall where she had just been. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat at the thought of the shots carving through her skull.

She clenched her jaw, irritation sparking in her amber eyes as her gaze bore into him. Brushing his hand aside where it was still latched on to her holster, she pulled out her other revolver and took a deep breath. Before he could ask just what the hell she was planning on doing, she had slipped down the wall and whirled around the corner, firing round after round.

He had no choice but to follow as closely as possible, without getting in the way, as she crossed the deck. They weaved through stacks of luggage and terrified horses, people running and screaming in every direction. John’s system was overloaded with the loud sounds and the constant terror that he would be shot at any moment, making him slightly dizzy. Rose didn’t appear affected in the least, her gaze fixed on the upper decks as she lead him through the fray with confidence. Two men collapsed against the rails and one tumbled over the edge into a table covered in flames without any sign of resistance. John was quickly coming to the conclusion that Rose had _incredibly_ good aim. He was regretting the way he had mocked her need for weapons earlier. If they made it out of this alive, he owed her an apology.

Reaching the outer edge of the boat, she shoved her revolvers into her holster and whirled around to face him. Her hair ruffled around her shoulders and it was only then that he truly noticed it was down and loose in the first place. She took the bag from him, her eyes scanning the area...for what he didn’t know.

“Can you swim?” she asked hurriedly, bringing her focus back to him.

He blinked. “I don’t see what that has to do with--”

“A simple yes or no will do,” she snapped.

“Yes, if you must know. I can swim.” He shook his head, confused and missing whatever point she was trying to make. “But I really don’t--”

“You need to jump.”

“I’m sorry. Hang on.” He held a hand up, his index finger pointing towards the sky. His panic was morphing into intense frustration. If she was going to be giving orders, she needed to be a good deal clearer than that. “I need to do what?”

“You need to jump into the water. Now,” she urged, her eyes turning back to the crazed scene still unfolding around them.

“You can’t be serious,” he said with a laugh.

“It’s our only chance,” she reasoned, looking back at him. “Now don’t argue, just do it! Or I’ll toss you in myself.” Her eyes flashed in the fire light and he while he had no doubt in his mind that she could carry out her threat, he wasn’t thrilled about jumping into the river...in the dark.

They glared at each other for an instant. A horse galloped past them, followed by two shouting crew members. The reality of their survival hit him square in the chest, but he wasn’t about to admit anything out loud. Huffing, John turned to grip the rail of the low barrier, separating him from the water flowing past below. He swallowed, preparing to hurl himself over the edge with no supplies, no map, no...Mickey. He jerked his head back to look at Rose, a fresh wave of panic crashing over him. “What about Mickey?”

“John, please. Just _jump_ ,” she urged between clenched teeth.

“I can’t leave him! He’s my brother! Even if he is an idiot.”

“I’m sure he’s already halfway to the shore. But if we don’t go now, we’re both going to end up dead.”

Nodding, knowing there wasn’t anything he could do for his brother now, and especially not if he was dead, he turned away from Rose. The water seemed an awful ways down, it had to be at least a 20 foot drop. He tried to tell himself it could be worse. Most of what coursed through his limbs as he gripped the railing was fear, anxiety...dread. But deep down, a small bubble of excitement welled up from the pit of his stomach. With one final glance at Rose, he placed a foot on the bottom rail for leverage then launched himself over the side of the boat.

A full second passed, his stomach leaping into his throat, before he hit the water feet first. The churning liquid swallowed him up, the boat causing the water to froth as it plowed through the preexisting currents. He clawed his way to the surface, gasping as he emerged for air. He shook his head, the fringe on his forehead spraying droplets in the process.

He waited anxiously for Rose to follow after him. His clothes made treading water a bit more difficult and he was thankful it hadn’t been as cold as anticipated. He heard more shouting as the boat pulled away. She hadn’t said _specifically_ that she would be right behind him...but he assumed. Isn’t that what _we_ implied? He tried to stave off the guilt about leaving her behind. She wasn’t helpless, in any sense of the word...still. 

He had resigned himself to swimming to shore alone when he noticed a blonde head coming towards him in the darkness.

“Rose!” he cried in relief, a broad grin covering his face.

“What are you floatin’ around here for?”

“I was…” his indignant reply died on his lips as he caught her teasing smile in the moonlight.

“Come on, pretty boy,” she smirked then turned to swim towards the river bank.

Rolling his eyes, he fell into stroke beside her. They swam to the shore in silence and he wondered just how awkward it was for her to swim with that bloody brown bag. He wanted to offer his help, or better yet tell her to leave it behind. Knowing he would only slow them down and that there was no way she would do such a thing, he said nothing. 

As they waded on to the shore, John noticed Mickey on his hands on knees, hugging the dirt, and he breathed a sigh of relief. They had all made it out alive. But at what cost? He was hit with all the things that had been left on the boat to burn. The water sloshing around his ankles felt like chains, pulling him back. They were stranded in the middle of bloody who knew where...with nothing.

“We've lost everything!” he fumed, running a hand violently through his hair. “All of our tools, all the equipment! All…” he trailed off, having turned at the sound of Rose dropping her bag to the ground. She was just as soaked as he was, her robe and whatever she wore beneath it, clung to her body. His throat went dry as his gaze traveled up her exposed calves and lingered on the way the material hugged her curves. She pulled her hair, that was plastered to her neck, to the side and leaned ever so slightly, unintentionally accentuating the curve of her hip. She twisted her hair into a tight knot, wringing the excess water out. She stood back up, combing her fingers through her hair and watching him with an arched brow. He swallowed thickly and gestured to the length of her body with one hand. “All...your, er, clothes. That is...mine are gone as well, but you...um, you don’t happen to have anything more...more suitable in that bag of yours do you? Not that you _have_ to change. Naturally. Just...er…”

Mickey chuckled, and John noticed him climbing to his feet from the corner of his eye. Despite the heat he could feel in his cheeks and the overwhelming urge to drown himself in the river, he willed himself to keep eye contact with Rose as she opened her mouth to speak. He nearly collapsed in relief when she was cut off by a male voice shouting from the other side of the water.

“Tyler!"

Rose's head snapped around and John watched her eyes search the darkness. The voice rang out again and he noticed that it appeared to be coming from the same guy she had been cozy with on the deck before all hell had broken loose.

"Hey! Tyler! lt looks to me like l've got all the horses!”

She smirked and walked to the edge of the water. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she called back in response, "Hey, Adam! Looks to me like you're on the wrong side of the river!"

There was silence, except the water lapping at the shore, followed by a loud string of cursing. She turned back towards them, a smug look on her face.

"Come on. I know where we are."

" _How_ could you possibly know that?" John snorted.

"You know, for someone so concerned with my _manners_ , you're rather rude yourself. I just saved your life.” She stomped over to him and poked him in the chest. “You should be thanking me. Not snapping and staring!"

"I was _not_ staring," he spluttered. She cocked an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "I wasn't. I...I was merely admiring your robe."

"Well, if we survive this journey, I'll be sure to buy you one." Her voice dripped with sarcasm and her eyes glittered with mirth.

John shot Mickey a scathing look as he doubled over in laughter and he tried not to think about how close she was. Or how beautiful she was when she was animated and angry.

"Now,” she began, satisfied by his silence and taking a step back, “let's get moving. I know a place nearby where we can get replacements for most of our supplies. But it's best if we hurry, so we can make it there before the sun rises. I don't fancy getting caught in the desert heat with no drinkable water."

She picked up her bag and walked purposefully away from the river bank. John and Mickey followed her, side by side, Mickey chuckling to himself. After five minutes of trying, and failing miserably, he gave up resisting. He wasn't sure how far they had to go, but he found he didn't care...as long as he had the sway of Rose's hips to guide him.


	6. We're About to be Shown the Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I've been having a lot of personal drama, for lack of a better phrase. Huge thanks to jabber-who-key for the quick beta!

It had taken them most of the night to reach the Shobogan camp. When they finally arrived, tired and sore, they were given a warm welcome and promptly given a place to sleep. It wasn’t five star standards by any means, but John didn’t mind. It was still clean and one of the best night’s rest he’d gotten in a long time. The adrenaline and excitement from earlier that day drained his body and left him drowsy. Few words were exchanged between the three as they settled in for what was left of the night, John mumbling a barely coherent "thank you" before passing out in his bedroll.

When he woke the next morning, Mickey was snoring in his bedroll and Rose had already vanished, presumably to find some supplies. And hopefully some new clothes. Not that he hadn’t minded the view...but the sight of her exposed skin as they had walked through the mind numbing desert had made it hard to concentrate on anything else. Not that there was much else _to_ concentrate on, all the bloody sand dunes looked the same.

He shook his head and ran a hand through his wild, sleep mussed hair. He really needed to stop thinking about her that way. There was no reason for his thoughts to go that direction in the first place. She was beautiful, if he was being honest with himself, but that didn’t change the fact that she was stubborn and incredibly infuriating. Very much _not_ his type. Did he even have a type?

John got up and stretched, arms reaching high over his head and arching his back. Letting his arms flop loosely back to his sides, he let out a sigh of contentment before walking over to where Mickey was still sleeping.

“Get up,” John urged, bumping Mickey’s leg with his foot. Mickey’s snoring stuttered then evened out again. “Come on, Mickey. Up!” He kicked harder this time, making his brother jump with a start.

“Ow! What’d you do that for?” Mickey whined, rubbing his thigh through the blanket and wincing.

“Oh, stop being such a baby.” John rolled his eyes. “Get up, we have things to do.”

“Alright, alright. No need to be such an arse.”

“Mickey, if you don’t get up now I will be kicking you in the arse, now shift.”

Grumbling, Mickey slowly climbed out of his bedroll and after several minutes of "waking himself up", was finally ready to follow John out of the tent.

It was mid morning, but the sun was already beating down mercilessly on the camp they had found shelter in. People were bustling about their daily activities. Children ran giggling while darting between tents. Camels and goats meandered through the camp. After checking to see if they could find any replacement clothes and coming up short, they decided to just make due and move on to the next item of business. The night before, Rose had informed them that she would take care of finding necessary supplies and equipment if they would arrange transportation. Which in this situation, meant camels. While John wasn’t _completely_ opposed to the idea, he would have much preferred a horse. At least he had experience riding a horse. Camels...not so much. And by not so much, he meant not at all.

They were now bartering with the only vendor they could find willing to sell them four camels. The fact that the jail warden, Christina, had somehow found her way to the same camp sometime during the night still spurned him, but he _had_ made her a deal. At least she hadn't slept in the same tent. He shuddered, an unwelcome thought of her trying to slide into the same bedroll with him had she ended up in the same tent making him want to vomit.

“I only want four. Four! I only want four, not the whole bloody herd.” Mickey shouted at the man, outraged by whatever price he had named. He had insisted he be the one to handle the transaction, that it was more his area of speciality. John had snorted at the phrasing, but allowed him to take control. Perhaps it had been one of his less brilliant ideas...Mickey had been arguing with the man for at least fifteen minutes, growing more and more furious.

“Will you just pay the man!” John finally interjected, his impatience reaching its breaking point.

Mickey glared at him over his shoulder then counted out what was needed as he grumbled, “For heavens sake, can’t believe the price of these flea-bags.” He shoved the stack of bills at the man who wore a large smile. “Yeah, happy. Yeah, there you go.”

Each of them took the reins of two camels and began leading them away from the rest of the herd to go find the women. Mickey was still muttering irritably under his breath.

John sighed and cast a sideways glance at his brother. “If you’re going to talk, speak up. Unless you're going to keep complaining. In that case, shut it.”

“I was just thinking is all. We could have got them for free.”

“Mickey, we are not _stealing_ livestock.”

“No, not that. Although that could have worked too.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought before giving John a mischievous grin. “All we had to do was give them Rose.”

John burst out laughing. He pictured selling Rose to some local who forced her to tend to his camels. John swallowed his next round of laughter as a group of women exiting a nearby tent dispersed enough for him to see the woman in the center. 

Rose. 

She was dressed in the local garb with a bit of a twist; a pair of black boots to go with the black dress that covered her entire body, save a thin plunge of the neck line. The dress was a light airy material that was loose yet somehow fitted at the same time. The only splashes of color were the golden rope looped around her waist and the sash layered in gold coins that jingled as she walked. A black veil was pinned loosely atop her head, flowing down over her shoulders and hiding most of her straight blonde hair. There was a small section that peaked out at her forehead, shining brilliantly in the sunlight. She even wore the bit of see through fabric that covered all of her face except her eyes; the gold and green beads lining the hem of the fabric only making their color pop against her fair complexion. She was gorgeous.

“Awfully tempting, right boss?” Mickey asked, bumping John’s shoulder and chuckling to himself.

“Awfully,” John breathed as Rose approached them, watching him closely. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he detected a hint of a smirk beneath the fabric.

…..

An hour later, the party of four were each mounted a top a camel and beginning their trek through the desert. Rose was rightfully in the lead and had removed the head wear the ladies of the camp had so graciously given her, opting to loosely pull her hair back instead. John tended to be right behind her, but he and Mickey changed positions every so often. Christina stayed where she belonged. Dead last. Rose wasn’t sure who was more unhappy that the other woman had managed to track them down to the Shobogan camp, her or John. She had the distinct impression that Christina made him very uncomfortable. 

“Never did like camels,” she heard Mickey complain from somewhere behind her. “Filthy buggers, they smell, they bite, they spit. Disgusting.”

“I think they’re adorable,” she retorted, patting her camel on the head and casting Mickey a pointed glance. John snorted and shook his head. She heard Christina’s voice pipe up from the end of their caravan. Whatever it was she had said, Rose didn’t pay it any attention.

It was going to be a long journey.

They traveled for hours across the barren desert. Braving the unforgivable heat and a few sandstorms. Rose, having previous experience, helped Mickey and John rig covers for their heads and faces against the biting sand. She ignored the soft feel of John’s hair under her fingers as she helped put the cloth in place. She even tried to help Christina, but the other woman wouldn’t have it. So Rose left her to figure it out or feel the sting of the gritty particles whipping into her skin.

They didn’t stop, much to Mickey and Christina’s disappointment. They ate as they road and with the setting of the sun, Rose continued to push them forward. She was pleasantly surprised that John followed her lead without complaining or criticizing her decisions. She remained awake while the rest of the party dozed off and on, catching needed sleep in whatever little snatches they could. She scanned the dunes for signs of life, or trouble.

Even at night, she refused to let down her guard, keeping a constant look out. Something solid bumped against her shoulder, making her jump. John was hunched over and leaning slightly to the side, his head seeming to nuzzle into her shoulder. She smiled softly to herself and reached out, gently pushing at his shoulder to guide him back into an upright position without waking him.

The wind carried the sounds of horses braying in the distance to her ears. She looked around, her eyes narrowing to a group of riders atop a cliff face in the distance, cloaked in dark clothing. A shiver ran down her spine. Could they be the same riders that had watched her stumble through the desert, barely making it out alive? The unpleasant feeling churning in her gut, told her they were. This probably wasn’t the last she would see of them either.

As the sun began to barely peek over the horizon, pink streaks coloring the sand, they reached their destination. Just in time, too. She had seen the other party approaching from the opposite direction some time ago. It was hard to miss a group of that size, especially with all of them on horseback. So Adam, the only member riding a camel, hadn’t been a complete failure after all.

“Good morning friends,” Adam said with a smug grin, inclining his head in mock civility.

Rose returned the gesture with an equally sarcastic smile as she turned her camel to face a seemingly empty stretch of sand extending far into the distance. The rest of her small group fell in line beside her with John directly on her left. He leaned around, giving Adam a disapproving once over.

“What the hell are we doing?” demanded the short man with the glasses that Rose recalled to be named Strax.

“Patience, sir, patience,” Adam replied with a placating grin over his shoulder.

“Remember our bet, girl.” Strax had turned his attention back to Rose, the thinly veiled insult doing little to rile her temper. “First one to the city, five hundred in cash.” The short man directed his beady gaze at Adam’s back. “One hundred of that is yours if you help us win that bet.”

“Oh, my pleasure,” Adam replied with a roll of his eyes. “Hey, Tyler, nice camel,” he sneered.

Rose’s camel picked that opportune moment to spit, the large glob of saliva splattering on Adam's chest with satisfying squelch. He pulled a face, searching around his saddle for something to wipe it off with. She grinned in response, patting her camel fondly on the head, then turning towards John. He was coughing into his hand, trying to cover up the laughter bubbling past his lips. Rose smiled further while inclining her head towards the horizon. "Get ready for it."

"Ready for what?" John asked, sobering up and arching an eyebrow.

"We're about to be shown the way." Rose's smile faded, memories of death clouding her mind as she stared off into the distance. She noticed John follow her gaze out of the corner of her eyes. The sun continued to rise in front of them, it's rays of light reaching out to stir up the sand in the distance. Brown streaks filled the air at seemingly random intervals, the tips of some invisible formation beginning to reveal itself. The objects were shaky and and unfocused at first, the heat giving the ruins of Trenzalore the appearance of a mirage. She heard John's sharp intake of breath beside her. Dread curled in the pit of her stomach. She had hoped never to return. Fate it seemed, had other ideas.

"Will you look at that," one of the women in Adam's party murmured. Rose couldn't be bothered to figure out which one.

"Can you believe it, ma'am?" came a different soft, feminine voice.

"Trenzalore," Strax whispered, his voice dripping with greed.

"Here we go again," Rose sighed heavily. The heat waves rippling across the ruins, giving the abandoned city an almost ethereal feel, snapped and vanished. The entrance to the city stood clear as something caught the light, sending a bright glare to the eyes of both parties. It was their signal, waking them from their awe induced trance and urging them into action.

Despite the unease she felt about returning to the lost city, a more welcome feeling had shot through her veins with the reflection of the sun's rays. Adrenaline. A warmth different from the heat already rising off the sand washed over her. With a tongue touched grin at John, she dug her heels into the side of her camel and gave it a gentle but firm thump with her riding crop, propelling the animal into action.

Her jerk forward, spurred both parties into action. Shouts and whinnies filled the air, the five camels lowing and vying for their own voices to be heard. She was sure if she looked behind her there would be a huge dust cloud from the sudden clamor of hooves. Within seconds, she had taken the lead with Adam hot on her heels. The warm wind whipped her loose ponytail out behind her as she pushed her mount to go faster with vocal encouragement and the occasional prod of her riding crop. She wasn't overly worried about the riders on horseback. Even if they had managed to obtain horses used to the desert, the camel had centuries of weathering the heat and the sand. They were masters of this terrain, and the short sprint to the ruins would not wear them down half as bad as the horses.

The head of Adam's camel bobbed alongside her as he fought to catch up. Bringing their saddles even, Adam flashed a ruthless smile then lifted the arm holding his rider's crop. The little bastard. His arm arced down, the leather rod beating over her arm as she held it in the air to ward off his blows. She winced as he continued to attack her. She could have easily pulled back or to the side, but the competitor in her didn’t want to risk the lead. When asked later, she wouldn’t admit that some of her decision had been based solely on the anger flaring up within her.

On his next next down arc she let him hit her across the back in order to firmly grab hold of the riding crop. His eyes widened when he realized he couldn’t pull back, the pair of them bouncing awkwardly on their camels who still raced forward.

“So long, _Mitchell_ ,” she grunted, turning the use of his last name into an insult. Without giving him a chance to respond, she yanked down with all her might. Adam pitched to the side, yelping and pleading. She kept hold of the leather rod until she knew his momentum would carry him the rest of the way down. He toppled out of the saddle, landing roughly in the sand and rolling over several times before coming to a stop. His camel continuing to run without him.

Rose laughed, loud and free, as she raced forward. Even with a quarter of the way left to go, she knew she had won. Sitting back, she let her mount set the pace. No one from the opposing group was anywhere near her. John and his camel appeared on her right. They grinned widely at each other, the adrenaline still buzzing through both their veins.

“Ha!” he yelled, throwing his head back in triumph. His camel made a low grunting sound, making John’s head snap back to look ahead of him. Rose tried not laugh at the panicked look in his eyes as his mount jerked forward, no doubt accelerating at the command he did not intend to give. As he took off ahead of her, she could hear Mickey cheering in the background.

Rose was only able to catch up to him after they had passed through the gap in the low wall and up a stone ramp, the entrance of Trenzalore. He had slowed down but hadn’t stopped. It suddenly occurred to her that he might not know how to stop. Coming up beside him she grabbed a hold of the reins and yanked back.

“Woah,” she commanded, pulling back on her reins as well. The camels came to an unsteady stop. “It’s just like--” she stopped talking when she finally looked at him. His arms were crossed and his bloody eyebrow was arched, amusement sparkling in his brown eyes. She swallowed. “What?”

“I’m just trying to decide if you think I’m _that_ much of an idiot…” he trailed off, leaning forward and staring at her intently.

“Or?” she prodded, trying to ignore the flipping her stomach was doing as he continued to gaze at her.

“Or…” He tilted his head as he said the word, drawing it out. ‘If you were really that concerned for my well being.”

Her jaw dropped and she could feel her cheeks flush. She tried to come up with an answer, only managing to stammer out, “I...I…”

“Just as I thought. If you had thought I were an idiot, the insult would have been quick to follow. So it must be the latter.” He winked at her and clicked his tongue behind his teeth then urged his camel the rest of the way up the ramp and into the ruins.

Rose was left staring at his back, her eyes drawn to his wild hair as he bounced out of sight. She didn’t move as her mind tried to work out what had just happened.

Mickey slowed as he passed her, but didn’t stop. “What’s the matter, Rose? Camel got your tongue?”


	7. I've Had Worse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to jabber-who-key for the beta. Also, just a warning, there is a character death in this chapter, at the very end. How the person dies is described, but not in graphic detail. Feel free to message me if you need/want more info.

Both parties had successfully made it into the ruins and were now setting up their dig sites. Adam and the group of people he had led chose to try and pry open an all too familiar door to gain access to the underground city. John hadn’t even given the door a second glance. There was a burning excitement in his eyes as he led them to an unlikely spot a bit further into the ruins.

As they passed by the other crew, John mumbled to himself about how best to improvise since he had lost all of his tools when they had abandoned ship. Rose touched his elbow gently, making him jump and stare at her in surprise. She smiled and told him to continue on, assuring that she would catch up in just a few minutes. He had looked at her suspiciously but in the end nodded and trudged on with Mickey and Christina following him close behind.

Rose had seen his basic tool kit, and while she wasn’t entirely sure what each item was used for, she remembered what they looked like. She walked calmly and casually through the other group’s camp. With her head held high, the workers (a mixture of Shobogans and Outsiders) never stopped her to find out what she was doing. Why should they when she acted like she owned the place? 

It only took her a minute to locate what she was looking for. With a quick peek to make sure everything she wanted was inside the small brown leather case, she placed it under her arm and walked out of the camp with the same authoritative air as she had entered. Passing near the doorway the workers were trying to get through, she overheard two of the women talking.

“Do you think they know something that we don’t, Professor Song?”

The other lady laughed. “They’re led by a man. What does a man know?”

Rose snorted as she made her way through the ruins. While she usually could understand (and in some cases even appreciate) the sentiment, these women were greatly underestimating the intelligence of John Smith.

…..

“That’s the statue of Anubis, his legs go deep underground.” John was rambling, explaining things that the others probably didn’t care about. Didn’t matter. They were actually _here_ , they had made it to Trenzalore. He was one step closer. 

Rose was securing a rope around a large nearby column. She had discarded the sash of golden coins that jingled whenever she walked, choosing to replace it with just her double leather holster. She had placed it with the rest of their items, under a temporary makeshift shelter near by. Wanting to take full advantage of the daylight, John had insisted they worry about setting up a more permanent camp later. She had agreed and immediately set to work, but he hadn’t missed the dark look in her eyes as she had glanced at the worn jackal statue. Perhaps something to ask her about later, if he remembered. 

“According to the Academy Scholars,” he continued as he angled a large mirror in prime position to catch the sun, “That’s where we’ll find the secret compartment containing the golden Book of Omega. Mickey, you’re supposed to _catch_ the sun with that.”

Mickey gave him a sour look, but then repositioned the mirror and brushed it off with a spare cloth.

Christina stood off to the side, watching. Although whether she was actually watching what they were doing or paying closer attention to her nails, John wasn’t really certain. Just as long as she stayed out of the way.

“So what are these old mirrors for?” Rose asked as she approached him.

“ _Ancient_ mirrors,” he corrected gently, smiling as she rolled her eyes. “It’s an ancient Gallifreyan trick. You'll see." He clicked his teeth and gave her a wink. He blamed his sudden friendly attitude toward her from the excitement and adrenaline buzzing in his veins.

Rose shifted on her feet, then pulled a small brown bundle out from under her arm. She bit her lip, staring at it a moment before thrusting it toward him. “Here, this is for you. Something I borrowed off our, er, fellow campers.”

John took the item from her hand, watching her with a raised brow and finding her slight nerves to be rather endearing. 

“I thought you might like it,” she said with a shrug, stepping backwards. “Might be able to use it.”

He undid the tie and opened the case as she turned from him before he could say thank you. Inside were various small archeological tools, all the basics he would need once they reached underground. A smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He looked up just in time to see Rose walking past Christina, who was doing a poor job of hiding a smirk.

“Can I help you?” Rose snapped.

Christina held up her hands. A panicked look crossed her face as Rose picked up the rope, preparing to descend into the underground ruins. “Hey, look for bugs. I _hate_ bugs.”

John’s eyes would have rolled back into his head had he not forced himself to cough, covering up the laugh at the withering look Rose shot the other woman before dropping down into the hole. Christina ran a jail for crying out loud, but she couldn't stand a few bugs? He rolled the parcel back up and shoved it in the back of his trousers.

“So,” Christina drawled, as he approached the opening, “You and Rose…?”

“Don’t,” he shot back, not bothering to look at her. “Just...don’t.” He crossed his arms, staring intently into the dark crevice and trying to ignore the odd feeling swirling in his stomach. It was just the adventure, the verge of discovery. It had absolutely nothing to do with the blonde below.

There was a flicker of light in the darkness and then Rose’s voice called up, “All clear!”

John’s heart leapt into his throat and he hurriedly grabbed the rope, anxious to get down there and see history come to life before his eyes. He scrambled down, his muscles straining slightly with the unfamiliar movement, and spared a thought for how Rose had managed to do this effortlessly in a dress.

His feet hit the sand and he had to give himself a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim lighting. He walked over to stand by Rose, who was holding a torch in one hand and the other hand on her hip, looking every bit the grand adventurer. 

“Do you realise we’re standing inside a room that no one has entered for hundreds, well...thousands of years. Three thousand to be exact.” He didn’t bother to keep the awe out of his voice. 

The room was vast with a sand floor and cobwebs covering every possible surface, rubble littering the outskirts. Only able to see a few oddly shaped stones in the room, he quickly bounced over to a mirror similar to the ones they had maneuvered up above. He was only vaguely aware of Mickey reaching the bottom, Christina dangling halfway down the rope. John couldn’t remember being this excited about anything in his entire life. He was now making groundbreaking discoveries. _Him._ His hard work was finally paying off.

“And then...there was light,” he announced, tongue touching the back of his top teeth as he brushed off the cobwebs and shifted the mirror into position. The sun's rays streamed down from the hole they had come through, bouncing from one mirror to the next. As the room illuminated, he sent up a silent thanks that all the other mirrors had still been in the correct position. Otherwise he would have looked like a bloody idiot.

“That is a neat trick,” Rose allowed, giving him a tongue touched smile as he came back to stand beside her.

Despite the energy crashing inside him, John forced himself to be still and take everything in. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and bounced on the balls of his feet. The knee high stone structures were placed in strategic intervals. Empty iron baskets were placed at seemingly random locations. Taking in a handful of bones peeking out of the sand near one of the stone groupings, John knew better. There was nothing random about the item placements.

As he catalogued the items in his mind, something fell into place and a very bad feeling swept over him. He quickly brushed it aside. No use in getting superstitious now.

“Oh my,” he breathed out, stepping further into the room. “It’s a sah-netjer. A preparation room.”

“Preparation for what?” Rose asked, furrowing her brow.

“For entering the afterlife,” he replied dramatically, hunching his shoulders and stepping closer to her.

“Mummies, babe,” Mickey supplied, coming behind Rose and clapping his hands down on her shoulders. He looked around the cavern. “This...is where they made the mummies.”

After they had all picked up torches, lighting them from the one Rose already had started, they began to move through the ancient chambers. Even though John was guiding them, Rose led the way. Mickey, followed by Christina, completed their little group. As they entered a hallway that felt more like a tunnel, Rose pulled a revolver from one of her holsters. The gentle click seemed too loud in the eerie silence. Cobwebs and dust lined the walls, disguising torches that hadn't seen fire for centuries. The air was stale and oppressive from being undisturbed for so long.

A barely audible skittering just up ahead, made Rose stop in her tracks. Tilting her head, she held her torch higher and pointed her gun in the direction of the sound. John held his breath. The noise grew louder and they all spun in circles, looking around and overheard. The scratching seemed to pass right above them before moving on and slowly dying away.

“What was that?” Mickey hissed.

Rose’s muscles relaxed, and she looked at John over her shoulder. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Sounds like… _bugs_.”

John choked, remembering the brief exchange she’d had with Christina earlier. Making sure he had a straight face he turned and whispered just loud enough to be heard, “She said bugs.”

“What do you mean bugs?” Christina shrieked, startling herself with how her voice echoed. She covered her mouth before speaking much quieter. “I _hate_ bugs.”

They moved forward in silence, taking one turn and then another. No one noticed when Christina slunk off in another direction, alone. 

Exiting out of the tunnel, John’s eyes fell on the base of the statue they had seen above ground. A fresh wave of excitement crashed over him, pulling him under and making him dizzy. The large carved feet rested on a stone pedestal that was nearly as tall as he was, the swirls and circles of Old High Gallifreyan writing covering it's surface.

“The legs of Anubis,” he whispered, barely remembering that for some reason they were trying to keep quiet. “The secret compartment should be hidden somewhere inside here. All we need to do--”

Another sound, this time like the shuffling of feet accompanied by what sounded like moaning, came from the other side of the chamber. Instinctively, they pressed their backs to the statue's large base and strained their ears. Rose held her gun at the ready and inched along the makeshift wall, John and Mickey shuffling anxiously behind her. The noise grew louder the closer they crept towards the corner. Rose passed him her torch, quickly pulling out her other gun. His heart pounded in his ears, making it hard to hear anything else, and John's hands were sweating as he tried to keep a tight grip on both torches.

Yelps of surprise bounced around the room as they swung around the base and came face to face with the other dig group, both parties with raised guns. John side eyed Mickey, wondering where he had gotten a revolver.

“You scared the Omega out of us, Miss Tyler,” Vashtra breathed in relief.

“Makes two of us,” Rose replied with a smile. Both parties lowered their weapons, laughing nervously.

“That’s my tool kit,” Jenny blurted, stepping forward.

“No, I don’t think so.” Rose brandished her revolver, setting off an instant chain reaction from both sides. Guns and tools once again, pointed threateningly at the opposing team.

“Alright, perhaps I was mistaken.” Jenny stepped back.

Rose gave her a tight smile. Weapons were redirected at the ground. John had the slightly unsettling feeling that Rose had indeed retrieved the tool kit by less than honorable means. But the seemingly trigger happy responses of everyone in the room was setting him more on edge. Why the need for all the guns?

“Well,” John began, trying to break the tension, “Have a nice day. We have a lot of work to be getting along with.”

“Push off,” Strax snarled. “This is our dig site.”

“We got here first,” John insisted, trying not to sound like a whiny child.

In a flash, guns were raised and cocked at the ready, neither party willing to back down.

“I do believe this statue is ours, _sweetie_ ,” Professor Song said with a sly smile.

“I don’t see your name written on it, _mate_.” Rose replied, the term of endearment used just as sarcastically.

Adam Mitchell piped up for the first time, “Yes well, there is only four of you and fifteen of me. Your odds are not so great, Tyler.” He finished with a smug smile.

John sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes and shifting on his feet. This was getting ridiculous. The sound of something tiny hitting the ground beneath him...wait, beneath him? He looked down at what appeared to be a crack in the floor. He pushed a small pebble beside his trainer through the crack. Sure enough, there was the small thud of it hitting ground not too far below. An idea sparked in his mind. 

“I’ve had worse,” Rose said through clenched teeth, pointing her weapons directly at Adam. John believed her, and was pleased to note the swallow and look of fear that crossed the other man’s face. He wasn't one for violence, but Adam deserved what ever threats Rose was going to give him.

“So have I,” Mickey added, attempting to sound tough. Rose kept her pistols pointed at Adam but turned her head, giving Mickey a disbelieving look.

John took a deep breath, hoping no one was truly as ready to shoot as they all appeared to be. “Oh for goodness sake,” he huffed, stepping into the line of fire from both parties and affecting a patronizing tone. “Let’s be nice children. If we’re going to play together we must learn to share. There is no need for the use of all these… _guns_. There are other places to dig.” He said the last while looking meaningfully at Rose. Placing a hand gently on her arm, he gave a light squeeze and hoped that she would be able to read the plea in his eyes.

She must have seen something of worth, because in an instant she was smiling at the other party and reholstering her weapon. He lead them around the other group and down a different corridor, purely on some gut instinct of how to get there.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she hissed, brushing past him to lead the way down the hall he had indicated.

He swallowed and mumbled to himself, “So do I.”

…..

After fifteen minutes and one wrong turn, they had reached the room John had been looking for. It was a bit smaller than the other rooms they had seen so far. While the cobwebs weren’t as prevalent here, a thick layer of dirt covered the ancient writings all over the walls. They found stands for their torches and three statue bases (the small figures themselves so worn down that it couldn’t be determined what they had originally been) that came to just above John’s knee that they pulled directly under what he had determined to be the optimal spot for digging. John and Mickey stood on the stone bases, whacking and chipping away at the ceiling above. He hadn’t bothered to ask where Mickey had gotten the two mallets, he had a pretty good idea. Rose had surveyed the perimeter of the room once and since sat down the other base, watching the two men work.

“According to the hieroglyphics on the wall there, we’re--” John’s excitement was cut off by Rose’s skeptic tone.

“Which ones? The wall’s covered in them,” Rose observed, looking around.

“Does it matter? I know what I’m talking about, I assure you. Anyway,” he continued without waiting for her response, “We’re underneath the statue. We should come up right between his legs.”

“That’s a bit cheeky,” Rose said with a wink.

John’s brain shorted out as he caught on to her meaning. He knew he was staring at her with his mouth slightly open and his arms frozen above his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from the smile on her face as she burst into genuine laughter. Once again he was caught off guard with the observation that she was rather stunning.

“If those damn women go to sleep,” Mickey grunted, pulling John back to the matter at hand. “No offence,” he said, looking at Rose.

“None taken,” she replied with a shrug, calming down from her outburst.

“We’ll dig our way up and steal that book right from under them.” Mickey gave one more swing, then plopped down on the stone base.

“Are you sure we can find this secret compartment?” she asked, looking at John again.

“Yes, if those bloody females haven’t beaten us to it.” John replied, also sitting down for a break. “No offense,” he added hastily.

“None taken.” Rose gave him a wide smile.

“Hey, where did our greedy friend get to?” Mickey asked, looking around.

For the first time, John noticed the warden’s absence.

…..

After half an hour of searching, they hadn’t seen any sign of Christina. Well, he said half an hour...it was more like twenty minutes...fifteen. Alright, ten. But they really had searched for her, sort of, before John had gotten distracted relaying to Rose the details of mummification. They were currently sitting next to each other on the statue bases, knees brushing every so often. Mickey pretended to play golf with his mallet a bit off to the side, complete with stones for golf balls.

“Let me get this straight,” Rose began with a disgusted look on her face, “They ripped out your guts and they stuffed them in...jars?”

“Then they take out your heart as well.” John mimed ripping one’s heart of his chest, happy gleam in his eyes. “Oh, but that’s not the best bit. You know how they took out your brain?”

“Boss, I don’t think she wants to hear about that,” Mickey said over his shoulder, after completing a swing.

John ignored him and continued, using one of his newly acquired tools to help demonstrate the next bit. “They took a sharp red hot poker, stuck it up your nose, scrambled things about a bit then ripped it out through your nostrils.”

“Ow, that's gonna hurt,” Rose’s voice could barely be heard from the way her hands protectively held on to her nose, muffling her lips.

“It’s called mummification. You’ll be dead when they do this.”

“For the record, if I don’t make it out of here, don’t put me down for mummification.”

“Likewise,” Mickey grunted, swinging hard. His stone sailed across the room, thunking loudly against the wall. Almost simultaneously, a large object dropped from the ceiling and landed directly in front of them.

John threw up his arms as dust and sand exploded in a cloud around the object. After the dust settled, John and Rose turned to look at Mickey with wide eyes. He grimaced and shrugged his shoulders.

John stood up and walked over to the large object while the other two hung back, his natural curiosity driving his movements. “Oh my Gods, it’s a...it’s a sarcophagus.” He squinted and looked up, the wheels in his head turning furiously. “Buried at the base of Anubis. He must have been someone of great importance or…” he paused, looking seriously at Rose as she came to stand beside him, “He did something _very_ naughty.”

Despite the sudden sense of foreboding that was stealing over him, the thrill of discovery overpowered all arguments for why they should run right then and there. He pulled his glasses out of the breast pocket of his Oxford, placing them quickly on his face. He shared a grin with Rose as they both bent over and blew the extra sand off the lid.

“Well, who is it?” Mickey asked impatiently, grabbing a torch and coming to stand on the opposite side of the coffin.

Rose leaned back, giving John room to peer at the ancient writing. He shook his head, surely he had read it wrong the first time. A shiver ran up his spine and the room felt several degrees cooler.

“He that shall not be named,” he said solemnly. The three of them shared a worried look as the torches flickered like some dramatic scene in a horror novel.

Rose was the first to break out of the spell, looking at the sarcophagus and pointing to something just below the hieroglyphics he had just read. It was an odd star shaped design with the carving of a scarab in the middle. “This looks like some sort of lock.”

“Whoever was in here, sure wasn’t getting out,” Mickey observed.

“No kidding. It’d take us a month to crack into this thing without a key.”

John had half tuned the other two out, his mind trying to come up with a list of possible historical figures whose resting place was still unknown and who could have possibly been so important that they would have been buried here. Or who had been one of the less glamorous figures, to put it lightly. He had a short list, all of them far fetched candidates. But then Rose had mentioned a key, and a long forgotten riddle made _complete_ sense. 

“A key!” he shouted, snapping his fingers before hitting himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand. “Oh, I’m thick. A key! Now _that’s_ what he was talking about!”

“Who was talking about what?” Rose was looking at him as if he had grown another head.

“The man on the boat,” he shouted excitedly, pacing back and forth. “The one with the hook, he was looking for a key. Only…” he stopped mid stride, turning to look at the others, “I left it on the boat. I didn’t realize what it was at the time.”

“What _what_ was? You’re not makin’ sense.”

“The...the puzzle box. The puzzle box is the key. And I bloody lost it.” He yanked his glasses off then scrubbed a hand forcefully down his face. After his vision cleared, he saw Mickey standing in front of him and grinning like an idiot. "What?" he snapped.

"You talking about this?" Mickey's grin widened as he removed his hand from behind his back with a flourish, holding the puzzle box safely in the palm of his hand.

John put his glasses back on and flicked his eyes from Mickey's face to his hand and back again. "What? How...?"

"Snatched it before jumping over board. Thought it might be important. Knocked some poor bloke straight into the fire though."

"Ha!" John shouted gleefully, grabbing Mickey's face in order to plant a kiss on his forehead. He snatched the box from his brother's still outstretched hand and hopped back to the sarcophagus. He twisted the puzzle box open with a small click, then with baited breath lowered the item to the lock. He giggled in glee when it fit perfectly.

His moment of triumph died as a shrill scream echoed down one of the corridors. John grabbed the key before taking off towards the noise with Rose and Mickey.

They halted in the entryway, looking in both directions as the terrified screams came closer. Christina burst into view on their left. She was jumping and shrieking, clawing at her face and yanking at her hair. She ran towards them at full speed, but shot straight past them, heading towards the other end of the tunnel.

John watched in transfixed horror as she ran head first into the solid wall, her skull connecting with the rock in a sickening crack that cut her off mid scream. Her body bounced straight back, falling to the floor in a motionless heap.


End file.
